Diary of a Mad Mama

I love Goodwill!

2010-07-12T09:38:00.001-05:00

And, so should you. It is an untapped goldmine of wonderful things! Case in point, we needed a new diningroom table. Our was oak, farm-ish, not our style. I was lazy about painting it. So lazy, I never did. After dropping off husband and daughter at the airport, daughter 2 and I went on an excursion to the Goodwill in Maize. Wow. I saw the table and liked it, but didn't get it. I know, how stupid! I called my mom and she reconfirmed my stupidity and confirmed that we needed to get back over there ASAP. Problem was, that I saw it 2 days ago, and would they even have it? THEY DID! Marked $99, I used my discount card to score it for $89, chairs and all. $35 for some new fabric for the chairs and we were all set. Husband comes home and is in love! With me, but, the table also. He declares it my best find ever!

Peanut and the 'Gina

2009-08-13T05:35:00.006-05:00

You probably know where this is going. Nana buys book with body parts pictured and named, toddler loves book, demands names, mother wants to wring Nana's neck.

I suppose it started out innocently enough. We were in the book section of Goodwill and Nana finds a child's book detailing the body, all of the body. Asks me if it is on the toddler approved reading list, it's not, by the way. I give my okay, thinking it will be put up til toddler is say, OLDER?!?!

Flash forward a couple of weeks, Mia finds the book on her bookshelf at Nana and Papa's house and demands a reading, right then and there. I politely decline, grabbing the baby and bolting for the door. Nana bought it, she can read it. Well, of course, Mia wants to "share" some new information, pictures and all. Keeping in mind these are more or less line drawings, I acquiesce, and have a gander at the naked pencil drawn kids. Boy, they are pretty anatomical. We give the "parts," as they are currently called, the real, honest to goodness names. You know, penis and vagina, the words you want your kid to yell out while you are waiting in line at Walmart. She already has a grasp of boobs and breast, so why not just get it all out there, so to speak?

Last night, I am nursing Ivy and Mia is laying on a little rug, with a blanket and a potty training book that I stuck in Ivy's bookshelf. We will be giving that a whirl sometime next week, kidding, of course. Anyway, Mia is running down this little checklist, quietly, but I can still hear what she is saying.

"Mommy, the 'gina."
"Mia, the 'gina."
"Ivy, the 'gina."
"Nana, the 'gina."
"Sofie, the 'gina." She is our cat, by the way. Don't want her parts to be left out.

"Daddy, the peanut."
"Max, the peanut."
"Papa, the peanut."
"Jon, the peanut."

I don't want to laugh, but it is difficult. She then proceeds to point out the parts of dear, little Prudence. "Look, she has parts, it looks like a smile! Look, has a hole in her bunnies for poop." I just sit there and agree, not wanting to put a damper on all of the fun she is having. I have to draw the line, when she says my parts look like a rabbit. I don't even want to know where she was going with that!

So, thanks Nana for a book on peanuts and the gina's. Let's hope you don't have the Joys of Sex floating around somewhere!

Intervention

2009-07-24T07:55:00.004-05:00

We are mostly moved in to our new house. There are mismatched pictures on the wall and lots of empty places, that I just don't know what to do with. I decided, because I read all of these crazy thrifty decorating blogs, that I need to get off my butt and make something, anything. I leave the girls with the husband and head to Hobby Lobby, the mecca for pretty much everything. I grab a cart and take out my list. I need fabric for the ragamuffin garlands, a capital letter L and some moss to cover it. Not sure why I need a cart, but something is bound to jump out at me that requires an extra pair of hands that I just don't have.

Hobby Lobby is amazing! They have everything you need and alot you don't. I find all kinds of things that I MUST have. My palms begin to sweat and my heart races. Wow, stuff is 50% off in every department. I nearly have to call my husband to rescue me from the towering shelves of stuff that I want. I need a professional intervention. Calling my mom would have been useless. She would have jumped in the car and started stuffing the stuff into my cart. I WANT everything, but cannot for the life of me, figure out what to do with most of it. I read about how all of these thrifty women spray paint everything. Man, if I had a can of paint, I would be painting everything too, metal candlesticks, frames, the kids, I don't care at this time, I am motivated and want to get busy!

I grab what I need and some that I don't. You just really never know when you will need a $24.99 doodad, that was marked down to $2.50. Maybe with a little paint...

Ok, so I didn't buy paint but am going to Walmart today and may pick up a can(or 6). Not sure what I am going to paint yet, but it is coming. I have this brass chandelier that is in for a big shock!

Move in ready

2009-06-12T16:21:00.005-05:00

So, we have a new house. It "used" to have a turret and be on a quiet, tree lined street. Now, it is rather big, has no fence and sits facing a major busy street. What happened, you ask? Well, we put a contract on one, we were outbid. We looked at a few more. One had columns, lots of space and only one bathroom. My lovely husband hates it, "Has columns, don't like it." What? More looking ensues, when in fact, we aren't even selling our current home.

I see a house online. It is listed as having 3 bedrooms with a main floor entertainment room. I say I want to see it, we meet our realtor there. It is spacious and has all pedestal sinks, don't ask. It has so, so, so many things that I love, LOVE, hear me? A big kitchen, a big master bedroom with bath. It also has a nice screened in porch and a lovely terrace off my bedroom. Closet space is fine, with ample room to store my massive collection of shoes. That sold it for me right then. Hubby wasn't quite as convinced. "Blah, blah," I hear him say. Ok, I'm done.

His mind changes and we go for it. There is that nasty back and forth that occurs in the real estate world. It is finally agreed upon and we have a house. Wish I could move there.

Get over it!

2009-05-17T17:04:00.003-05:00

I am on a couple of mommy boards. One, in particular, seems to be rife with irritation so much that I have read that it might be shut down. The reason is really incredible and really stupid. It seems there is quite a bit of bashing of certain members, so much that it has driven a couple of the women to actually quit participating. I understand the reasoning. One mom was attacked because of how she disciplined her son. It didn't seem all that unreasonable, the way she handled the situation. But, as usual, things got out of hand and she was personally attacked in a way that I would describe as petty and ignorant. Another member, one who jokingly admits she has a beer and a Xanax, was also recently attacked by her so called "friends." Someone questioned her role as a mom and wondered how her kids would grow up with a crazy, alcoholic mama. I mean, really? There are so many other things in this world that demand our attention. The board calls these people trolls because they interject things that are meant to stir the pot, piss people off and cause the moderators to have to moderate. We are supposed to be friends, to support each as friends and women. Creating havoc doesn't create happy people. I don't think that many from the board in question read my blog, but if they do, if you are a petty betty, step off!

Wild Kingdom

2009-04-17T20:31:00.002-05:00

As if Larry the Lizard wasn't enough, darling husband came home the other day and told me to have a look out the kitchen window. What I saw was a bird, a hawk, eating something. Turns out, he was dismantling another bird! There were feathers everywhere. That makes 2 days of animal behavior at my house. What in the world is happening here?

Jurassic Basement

2009-04-17T06:15:00.009-05:00

We have company coming, so I decided to take my shower curtains down to the laundry for a washing. I use alot of bleach on the liners and am always afraid that it will get all over me while I try to get them out. When I heard the washing machine stop, I went down and started taking off my clothes. Nice visual, huh? Anyway, I was down to my bra and had the belt of my jeans unbuckled, when I saw something walk past the dryer. It was, are you ready for this, a LIZARD! WTH? It looked alot like this.

See how he is mocking me, daring me to come closer so he can eat me? Or, maybe he is saying, "Na, na, na, na na, I'm in your basement! You can't touch me!" Yeah, laugh it up big guy, laugh it up. So, my reaction to finding this little bit of the herpetarium in my basement is to scream like I am being cut with a samurai sword. The neighbor probably heard. All of them.

I call my husband to have him come home to remove the beast from the basement. He cannot understand me through all of the screaming. At the exact same time that I am screaming at him, a friend calls on my cellphone. She never calls, so while I was concerned, I was a bit more concerned for what was stalking me in the basement. I scream at her too, telling her their is a large reptile in my basement. She, not surprisingly, couldn't understand me and hangs up, texting me to find out what was them matter. I text her back and she just laughs, no offer to come over with a lizard trap. Hubby says he has to go to a meeting and I am left to fight off the beast in the basement. I call my parents. My mom puts my dad on the phone and I tell him to come over immediately to put this thing out of my misery. He says let it be, it eats the bugs. I scream that I don't care and get over here. He does.

We go into the basement. I point out the location of the offender and he grabs a flashlight and step stool. We have weapons but he chooses to go at it unarmed. He pokes and prods things, nothing happens. By now, the thing is probably wandering around the house. The useless cat doesn't even seem interested in what I am telling her. My dad reassures me that at least it isn't a snake. How freakin' reassuring is that? He then goes on to say, that it has probably been in the basement for quite some time, grown up there, so to speak. Freakin' great. I tell my dad to get out because I don't want anymore of his opinions.

I post on my mommy boards. I explain the entire story and my responses are interesting. Most say that I am lucky it isn't a huge spider. While this is true, I could kill a spider and that would be it. Now, I basically have a pet in my basement, and an unwanted one at that. Most laugh at my underwear clad self screaming at the top of my lungs about something I may never see again. Whatever, I am never going into the basement unarmed again.

Larry the Lizard, as I call him now, wasn't really that big. I am figuring about 9-10 inches. That is pretty long though, I think, especially for someone that doesn't like things living in her house that don't make any kind of contribution, other than scaring the crap out of me.

This is probably a more accurate representation of the visitor.

You know, the smiling, happy go lucky lizard that just wants to hang out and be friends. Larry was brown, but you get the idea.

I have yet to see Larry the Lizard again, and I am totally fine with that. I carry a broom and make alot of noise to scare him away. I am not feeding him or setting out water for him, I want him go away, far away. I am still faced with the fear of him crawling into my clean laundry and making his move upstairs. I may need therapy.

Hair Experiment

2009-04-03T06:20:00.000-05:00

Done! No comment.

Today

2009-04-02T06:14:00.005-05:00

Ivy woke up at about 430, so my day started early. It usually starts around then, and sometimes I go back to sleep, sometimes I don't. On Tuesday and Thursday, Mia has school, so I have to be dressed fashionably and well coiffed, in order to fit in with all of the other stuck up moms. See the next post regarding the well coiffed part, very sad. Anyway, Ivy went back to sleep so I showered, had coffee etc and decided at 530 that I should get dinner going. Not that we are going to eat prior to 6pm, but hey, why not get a jump on things? I am making chicken and that always takes awhile to bake. If I have a late nap, it could be 7pm before we eat and by then I will have eaten everything in the kitchen. So, I get the cookbook and start assembling the ingredients for this new recipe. The last one I made from this book, SUCKED, so am hoping for better results this time. I mix the Ranch dressing and flour together to dredge my breasts in, just a little early morning humor there. I get the chicken out of the fridge and see these aren't just chicken breasts, they are chicken BREASTS! Mammoth, gargantuan, Dolly Parton sized pieces. They aren't going to bake in 25 minutes, like the recipe says. I will be lucky to get them done in 25 days with my oven. The darn thing isn't even 3 years old yet. I have to bang them down to even fit in the pan, let alone cook. I grab the meat mallet and think about where I can beat them down. It is 530, no one wants to hear me beating the meat, so to speak. I decide the basement is the place. Lots of yucky things happen in basements, so why not a little breast beating? I whack them hard so they flatten enough to be manageable. I can't get them that thin, so guess I will add about an hour to the cooking time. I bring the bags of chicken upstairs to dredge. I HATE, HATE touching chicken! It has a cold, sticky/snotty feeling, and is just gross. I mix the flour and dressing together, by now I can tell this is going to be another sucky dinner, and prepare to plunge my chicken covered hands into cold, sticky Ranch/flour mixture. My teeth are starting to sweat now. You know, that sick feeling you get before you hurl. I have already turned on the faucet because I know the second I am done, I will have to sterilize my hands. I put the first piece in and smoosh it around to get it covered. I am literally, gagging. There is always that squeeby little piece of whatever that comes off the breast, sometimes it hangs on for dear life, but I always remove it because it is totally disgusting. I use a spatula to get better coverage of the dressing/gloppy mixture. You would think that using a spatula would cut some of the hand mess, wrong. There is way too much touching of gross stuff in this recipe, so I will not be making it again, no matter how good it tastes. I get all of the chicken into the pan and set the timer. I rinse all of the dishes/utensils involved and then go about sterilizing my hands. I use the hottest water that will come out and lots of dishsoap. My cuticles will look like hell but I don't want any remnants of the chicken goo I call our dinner to be on me. Then, there is the cleanup of the prep area. Oh, no, there are squeeby particles and the dressing mess on the table. I have no papertowels. I get a clean hand towel and proceed to spray the entire area, twice, for best results, with a mixture of chemicals that I'm sure could send me to the hospital. There is no trace of the yuck that I was cooking so I am happy. However, the sink has the yucky dredge bowl in it and the mixture isn't coming out. I kick up the hot water and try to rinse it out without touching it. Finally it comes clean, but the gack is now stuck in the sink. Nice. I run some more hot water and turn up the faucet to a more concentrated stream. It seems to do the trick. I have to wash my hands again, just in case something gross got on them. I don't even have an OCD but chicken is so gross that I must wash, must wash, must wash. By now, I am angry that I have made something that is probably going to suck, my family won't eat it and I have to be sterilized after making it. I get it into the oven, it actually smells pretty good. By 630, it is done. I have cut into it, just to make sure that we won't get some squeeby chicken disease if we eat it. All I can say, is that dinner is done and it will probably suck. So, I have been up since 430, my hair looks like crap, my cuticles look like crap and I have created and cooked some crap. Have a nice day!

No hair wash-Day 1

2009-04-02T06:00:00.004-05:00

I got up at the crack of dawn with the baby and decided to just shower, not wash my hair. I did it yesterday and my hair still had that straw-like quality to it. I smelled it, felt it, ran the brush through it to see if it was an oilslick. Nothing led me to believe it would look like hell so stuck the shower cap on, and off I went. I look lovely in my poufy, pink showercap. Maybe I should have left it on. Once I started trying to style my hair, the reality set in. Not too greasy but very flyaway and still dry looking. I plugged in the curling iron, hoping for a miracle. Apparenly, today was not my lucky day. My hair is sticking out in a million different directions and is really creeping me out. The curling iron curled the ends under(a little maybe)but the rest is flipping out all over the place! My old straightening iron didn't work, so I threw it away. I can't see getting a second mortgage to buy a Chi either. So, today I am stuck. I hear it is going to rain, so may just wear the shower cap.

New Hair Experiment

2009-04-01T11:38:00.003-05:00

Due to the fact that my hair is suffering more than usual, I abandoned my baking soda/vinegar idea. I have deep conditioned twice and today went back to my expensive(but very worth it)Redken shampoo. My hair is on the mend and looks alot better, no pictures because I hate them. Anyway, my new experiment is not to wash everyday, letting the natural grease, I mean, oils, take over and make my hair look great. I was talking to my wonderful stylist and she said that she only washes twice a week! Her hair always looks great, not sure mine will. Let me rephrase, it won't, but I will give it a whirl and see what happens. I have my showercap ready for tonight and we will see how long I can go without washing. I am scared. K's hair always looks great, I'm sure just not because she is a professional. Saturday, Mia and I are going to get our hair cut, so we will see what K's verdict is.

Hair Experiment-Day 4

2009-03-31T06:48:00.006-05:00

I have been using the baking soda/cider vinegar plan for 4 days now. I have noticed a few things about my hair and/or washing it.

Baking soda-no lather-hate this
Baking soda in eyes/mouth-hate this
Baking soda-quick rinse-love this
Cider vinegar smell-love this, especially on french fries
Cider vinegar smell in hair-I thought it was supposed to rinse out?-I am not a french fry
Baking soda/cider vinegar-hair is like straw-hate this

My hair's texture is like dried straw. Wavy, dried straw. Time to try a new approach. This am, I washed with the soda and used an Aveda deep conditioning to reel in my straw head. Seems to be much smoother and smells better. Maybe I will post pictures, maybe I will go back to lathering shampoo.

Hair Experiment

2009-03-28T11:01:00.005-05:00

I have been reading alot about washing your hair with baking soda and cider vinegar and how much better it is for your hair than all of the chemicals found in regular shampoo. Now, I absolutely HATE HATE to have dirty, greasy hair so this concept is as foreign to me as Mandarin. I like to have squeaky, good smelling hair that is easy to comb through. But, I would also like to have hair that is easy to style, which this no shampoo approach is supposed to remedy. Apparently, the lack of chemicals cleans your hair better, leaving it in a more natural state, allowing for curls to be curlier etc. Problem is, I don't have any curl and very little wave, so I am thinking this is going to leave an oil slick for a style. Lots of people have good luck with this, and since I don't work, I figured I would give it a try. This is the first day with the soda/vinegar alternative. There is no lathering, which is the part of the process that I love the most, and no smell, until you add the vinegar. So, I got the job done but figured that combing would be a real mess. I was wrong, combing was just fine. My hair felt nice, actually. Hubby thought it looked really good too. Here is a picture of day 1.

The wonderful stylist I have, read my blog! Horror! I thought she would tell me to bust out the shampoo but... I was wrong! She doesn't wash everyday and has great hair. I am hoping mine will look as good as hers. I'm not holding my breath because she didn't offer to come over every day and help me style it and everyone knows I can't do anything with my hair... I love her anyway, though.

Ahhh!

2009-03-09T06:26:00.007-05:00

I don't think that I know how to relax. I can't do it, there is always something that I need to do or should be doing, so my mind, or body, takes over and I can't relax. I used to think that sitting in front of the tv or surfing the internet was relaxing, it isn't. When I play Scrabble online, it is stressful, having to concoct words so that you can win. It is also stressful when you fall 5 games behind. Where is the fun in even playing, I sometimes wonder? Where is the fun in doing laundry, washing floors, putting stuff away, dusting? I don't know... How can I relax?

I have a relaxation fantasy, if you will. It doesn't include Brad Pitt, Angelina will just NOT let him go. If he was in the fantasy, it wouldn't be very relaxing anyway. I would have to have my hair and makeup perfect and my thighs and stomach, well... Just not happening. So, the fantasy starts out with getting a massage by just hands, no one attached. I don't want to be talked to etc. I just want to relax. After a nice massage, I would move to the hot tub, where I would sip a nice, frozen margarita. No salt, not much alcohol, just a lime Slurpee. I would then move to the beach. I don't like much heat, it would be warm but not where I am sweating, because sweating isn't relaxing. I would lay(or is it lie) at the edge of the water and the waves would gently reach me, surrounding my warm skin with cool water. I don't know what kind of bathing suit I am wearing because that takes away all of the relaxation. I know I'm not svelte and so I have deemed this a private beach and bathing suits optional. The air is fragrant with flowers and I can hear the palm trees rustling in the distance. I might even hear some dolphins. I am no expert on where dolphins really live and this is a fantasy so they can be in my backyard if I want them to be. Maybe I am relaxing. I don't get hives from the sun, I don't get all sweaty and no one is there to talk to me. Maybe I will get some Mexican food. For some reason, the beach is always in Mexico. I know there are beautiful beaches in Europe and around the world, but I know I like Mexican food, so it just seems to work out best that I am over the border. I try to use this fantasy when I can't fall asleep. It rarely works.

The next relaxation fantasy I have deals with the mountains. I am not really a beach person so this one tends to work a little better. I am in a huge valley with craggy, snow covered mountains all around me. I am laying in deep grass with millions of wildflowers surrounding me. The smell is intoxicating. I am looking into the bright blue Colorado sky. The sky is endless, like looking into Heaven. Not a cloud in sight. Beautiful. When I get up, I can see the amazing colors of all of the flowers and trees. I'm not that big into nature but can appreciate everything that I am seeing. I can hear the birds chirping and the deer gently rustling the brush. Squirrels are poking around, looking for a snack. I am having a snack myself, trail mix, with lots of almonds and M&M's. Usually, trail mix gives me a horrible stomachache but this is a fantasy and if I want to be drinking Long Island Iced Tea while eating trail mix, while standing in a field, juggling chain saws, then I will. I end my fantasy by walking to a log cabin and having a nice dinner, the menu yet to be determined. I'm not sure the mountains are associated with a certain type of food, so I will just leave it at that. Nevermind, that I will be getting those sun induced hives, that I am allergic to everything outdoors and am afraid of rabid squirels. While this is a nice thought, it doesn't really keep me that relaxed.

In my quest for relaxation, I have tried many things, laying with my feet up on the couch, a glass of wine, exercise, reading, surfing the internet, watching tv, cooking, drugs(not the street kind), napping and a bunch of other stuff. As of yet, not much has worked. I'm not sure what is going to do the trick, though I do have that call into Angelina to see if Brad might be available.

I think relaxation is overrated.

Get out of here!

2009-02-15T12:38:00.006-06:00

Ivy is in the hospital with RSV. It has been trying, to say the least. Maybe I will chronicle it, maybe I will just move on and try to put it behind me. It has been a rough week but something last night is just baffling to me.

I was standing in the kitchen area at 130am. The respirtory tech is sucking the thick crap out of my tiny, tiny daughter. I have a ponytail, glasses, ratty t shirt and pj bottoms. I look great, no, not really. I am likely having another glass of water as the hospital is dry and my nose is cracked and bleeding.

A male approaches me. This isn't anything new, there are people in and out of the kitchen, as the pediatric ward is filled, overflowing, really. He stops and begins to chat with me. He is dressed nicely and has stylish glasses. He also has 2 front teeth, the rest black and worn down. He is also covered in 40 tattoos. I don't see them all, just some, why me? Anyway, he has a 2 year old with RSV. She was premature, weighing in at 11oz, at 5 months. He explains that he has 5 other kids, one right out of high school. Apparently, when the sick baby was born, he drove fast to get to Wesley. From 21st and Amidon, he made it to Central and Hillside in a minute. I don't think the helicopter can make it that fast but I let him ramble about how much he spent to fix up this rocket car of his. Ok, by now I am ready to run away but can't. He continues to yammer on, asking me how old I was and how old my sick child was. I tell him and he actually says, I don't think anyone is ready for this. Really... He says, "I think that you are pretty attractive." My jaw drops and I want to smack him. I totally cannot believe this guy. What man can hit on a woman, while both of their daughters lay very ill? I'm not saying he wanted a date, just some things aren't appropriate and this was one of them. Some people.

Just a little busy

2009-01-26T10:07:00.002-06:00

This is why I haven't been blogging regularly.

I know

2009-01-08T05:56:00.002-06:00

I know that I haven't had a new post in awhile. I really don't have much to say, just wrapping up loose ends before Tuesday, when I will have the C section to retrieve Ivy from my enormous tummy. The past few days have been hard, I have alot of contractions and pain from her moving. The bad part is that all of the pain hasn't led to anything productive about labor. I am kind of just laying low and trying to relax but even that is hard.

I hope to be back with something witty, sometime. Until then, think of me while I am up all hours of the night, changing diapers and attempting to nurse.

Nasal Constipation

2008-12-28T07:47:00.008-06:00

I will never forget sitting in my grandma's hospital room. She had just been admitted and was being questioned by a burly lesbian about everything under the sun. You know, how do you feel, why are you here, would you like a Pap? Yes, she really said that, my grandma was in her 70's and I'm sure she was pretty excited about that prospect, aren't we all? One of the last questions burly lesbian asked was was she ever constipated. My grandma answered with an enthusiastic, "Yes, I was born constipated!" And, here is where my story goes...

I always have a sinus infection. There is always thick, green, yucky crap in my head, not my brain, just my nose and sinus cavities. Doctors have advised me to have it drilled because there is a blockage. Doctors have also advised me that it will provide some relief but will more than likely come back to bother me again. The likelihood of me having this surgery is about as great as me winning the lottery. It won't happen. Never. It freaks me out to think of someone drilling in my head, packing it with gauze to no doubt stop the blood and the massive amount of petrified boogers in my head from dripping all over my shirt. Just not having it. There are reasons that I have this blockage and or permanent supply of green stuff in my nose.

I am allergic to everything. Dogs, all trees, all grasses, all weeds, dust, dirt and probably a bunch of other things but I was tired of having the doctor inject things into my arms, due the all of the dripping blood, and made him stop. One probably wonders why they didn't poke my back a million times instead. They did, it didn't work so they brought out the big guns, big syringes filled with all kinds of toxic dirt. They injected me in the upper part of my arm. This was Christmas Eve, a snowy day, where I sat in an office with a big, drafty window, in a paper towel shirt. It was cold, I was bleeding from both arms and getting kind of pissed off that I was having to endure this. Come to find out, I should have been getting allergy shots, twice a week in both arms. Yeah, right. There was no guarantee they would even stop or alleviate the allergies, so I just dealt with them or rather, they dealt with me. No meds ever seem to work and if I am given an antibiotic, I get a yeast infection. Given that fact, I think a stuffy nose is better than a messed up who ha.

Lately, as in my entire pregnancy, I have been stuffy. Oddly enough, my darling husband, has also been stuffy. He has used a bottle of nose spray, while I sit jealously, wishing for a big huff of some Vick's goodness. Anything to help me breathe. Saline spray isn't doing the trick and Sudafed is just a red hot in a blister pack, that I can rarely open without a knife. We haven't experienced any relief. We agreed that an investment in a Neti Pot might be a good thing.

I began to investigate the claims of the odd little pot on the internet. I watched a YouTube video of a woman shoving a teapot spout into her nose and letting the water drain out the other nostril. It was frightening and my eyes began to water. I read how it is a great device to have for clearing sinus cavities and maintaining healthy nasal/sinus health. We decided to go for it. I waddled down in 5 degree weather to the Walgreen's for the pot. I hate the Walgreen's by my house. It attracts some odd characters and you have to wait endlessly for someone to wait on you, all while looking over your shoulder to make sure that no one tries to steal your purse. I have to be desperate to go there.

I wander around the cold medicine aisle. There is no Neti in sight. I try the humidifier aisle, nothing. I am starting to get mad and there is snot running down my face, begging for a big gulp of whatever you put in the pot. Luckily, I stumble onto an entire endcap of Neti Pots! All with $1.50 off coupons attached to them. I am amazed and grab one. I wait 10 minutes to check out.

I get home and hubby boils lots of water so we can clean our heads out. The pot looks remarkably like the Cinderella teapot that Mia plays with, sans phallic tip, which is the part you jam into your nostril. The water has to be semi-warm and then you add it to the pot with a saltwater packet. He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. I anxiously await the news that his head is clear and he can breathe better than ever. He comes out, watery eyes and a big puddle on the bathroom counter. He doesn't know if it worked or not so we decide this must be a multi-step process. It is now my turn.

This time we are in the upstairs bathroom. He tells me to stick the phallic tip into my nose, lean over the sink and let the saltwater flow. I choke immediately, because my head is clearly not aimed the right way or it wouldn't go down my throat. I choke again when he makes me laugh. Some stuff comes out but nothing like the 7lbs. of stuff I figured. All in all, I can breathe but for how long?

I do this for 3 more days straight. The last day was the most unpleasant, by far. I am a pro by now, or so I think. I jam the deal up my nose and blood starts to pour out like a faucet. Luckily, I have a hand towel to mop up the carnage that is running down my face. I think I have passed a blood clot through my nose. It is really unbelievable, it looks like I cut my finger off. I can't finish the entire 8 oz nasal drink and start to do the other side. The water is cold! I only do about 4 oz before I give up and put the pot up. It is now sitting on the cabinet, looking a little forlorn about being left alone for so many days. Perhaps one day, we will revisit the Neti Pot, just not today.

Merry Christmas!

2008-12-25T07:10:00.002-06:00

I am sitting here at 710am waiting for Christmas to start. My parents will be here by 730. The coffee is brewing, the Overnight Caramel French Toast is sitting in its egg batter. I am the only one up. Where is the 4 year old? I can see why the 14 year old isn't up, but seriously, where is the 4 year old? I feel like a dork. I am wearing my holiday sweater and my pj pants because I have to go up and root around for some pants that fit the bun. She isn't even moving around so I am just sitting here. My mom is bringing champagne for Mimosa's and darn it, I can't have one of those either. I bought 7UP for the kids and I to mix with the OJ, at least we can pretend.

Have a Merry Christmas!

Brrr!

2008-12-17T05:48:00.004-06:00

Yes, it is cold. What is the expression, cold enough to freeze a witch's boob? Something like that. I have lived in KS for 12 or so years and have never been this cold. I figured toting the bun would keep me extra warm, it really isn't and I'm sure she is probably mad that we are turning into popsicles. I don't have a coat to fit over my massive tummy, just didn't figure I would really need one because it never gets that cold here. I have been making do with my brown, fuzzy North Face jacket. It is warm, the part that covers me at least. The rest of the exposed stuff gets a long scarf wrapped around it. I look ridiculous, and am only somewhat warmer. I am about to go get a sleeping bag to wear.

Boots are not an entirely different story. I have a couple of pairs, one that has nice, fuzzy liners. Can't get them on. Neither of them. I looked at them and tried to give them a pep talk about how cold and snowy it was and how I could really use their cooperation in getting them on. They didn't budge. I got them over my ankle before I figured out they weren't going any further. I mentally tried to calculate how I could lay on my back on the bed and pull them up. I then made note that if I did that, how was I going to get off the bed? So, no boots. I found some thick socks and a pair of slip on shoes. Had to use a shoe spoon but at least they were on. I readied myself to start the car.

Got my jacket and scarf, keys and found I had no gloves. I waddle out to the car, slipping on the icy slope off the porch. Great, now I am injured. The gloves were in the car, freeze dried. I didn't care, I had to get the car started so put them on. They stuck to me like a tongue on ice. Not very warm. I knocked snow off the windows because I had no scraper. This isn't going very well.

Get the car going and proceed to bundle Mia up til she looks like a little pink snowman. I half carry her and her backpack to the car. She decides that she needs to make a snowball. NO! Get in the car, mommy is FREEZING! She complies, whining that she wants to make a snow angel before school. Maybe after or you will be soaked. She didn't quite get it but got in and we were off.

The streets were snow packed and you couldn't even see that any other cars had even driven over it. That is til we were nearly hit by a huge school bus. At least she waved before nearly sliding into us. Finally, after what seemed like a ridiculous amount of time, we were at Mia's school. Mind you, it is about 4 blocks from our house. We get out, and are standing in massive amounts of snow. Seems the parking lot hasn't been plowed. There are going to be approximately 60 kids coming to school and no one has bothered to plow? Oh, it is getting even better. I drop Mia off and get ready to head home.

I get back to the car and found that the plowing has begun. There are numerous cars in the lot by now and the guy plowing has managed to make a decent path but has left snow pretty deep around the existing cars. The snow is even deeper by my car than when we got there. Have I mentioned that I am not able to put my boots on? I get in, feet soaked and realize that it has sleeted and I can't see out the windshield. I am about to lose it! Seriously, I don't have a scraper. I sit and fume while I wait for the heater/defroster to do its job. Finally, I am off. I am exhausted and realize that I have to come back out in this crap to pick Mia up. I am wondering if I should just stay in the car and wait for her versus having to do the same routine again. Then, I feel like I have to pee. Guess I will be going home afterall.

Bah, humbug

2008-12-11T09:07:00.008-06:00

I like Christmas. It was alot more fun when I was younger, but now that I have kids, it becomes a way to play with toys that really don't belong to me. I can't wait because we got Mia a Leapster 2 and it looks like a blast. So, I don't hate Christmas.

What I really loathe is Christmas music. Not the music per se, just that it starts being played way back in November, even before Thanksgiving. All Christmas music, all the time. I hate it. My feeling is that there are only so many songs and way too many people that sing the same thing. I am going to mention a few of the ones I like and alot more of the ones that I don't. I really don't think that everyone should even be entitled to sing carols. They become these bastardized versions, with synthesizers, new beats and odd melodies. They become a hint of the traditional song, and usually suck.

These are a few that I love, goofy or not:
The Little Drummer Boy
Silent Night
Jingle Bells
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
Anything by the Chipmunks, I know, not really classics, but cute!
That Hippo song, I know, I know, it is lame, but I like it anyway.
I love, love Same Old Lang Syne, but I love Dan Fogelberg, so I had to throw it in.

I feel like these are some of the classics and I'm sure I've missed a few, but these are what came to mind.

A look at some of the songs I loathe, really loathe.

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, the Dean Martin version, where he calls him Rudy and decides to bust into some Swedish accent while singing. Save it Dino, you screwed this one up, big time.

Wonderful Christmastime, by Paul Mccartney. There are no real words for this ditty, except LAME!

Santa Babyby Earth Kitt, Ok, I know there are lots of supporters of this song. To me, it sounds like Christmas porn. I see a scantily clad woman, with a glass of champagne, waiting for Santa in a slinky piece of lingerie. Hmmm, maybe that is really my mother.

Any song the Beach Boys thought would be a good idea. They just weren't.

I know these were for charity, but... We Are The World and Don't They Know it's Christmas make me feel about as good as a glass of old eggnog. The thought of George Michael sporting some tight Spandex while trying to festive, makes me really queasy. Who knows what his plans were after the song but I doubt it was something we would really want to know. I know that Sting, Duran Duran, Phil Collins and a host of other talented musical folks were there, but, I would rather choke on fruitcake then endure those songs ever.

So, I know this list will rankle some people but we are all entitled to our opinions about the music we are forced to listen to at Christmas. I, for one, can't wait til 26 December.

A little bit of blood never hurt anyone...

2008-11-28T06:43:00.002-06:00

Off and on for the past couple of months, Mia has been experiencing nose bleeds. They usually occur when I am in the depths of sleep that I rarely get. I hear a, "MOMMY!" Why she never calls for her Daddy, I will never know. It jolts me like an earthquake, my heart starts racing and every muscle in my body twitches. I fly out of bed and run to her room, where she is inevitably holding her tiny little nose. Blood is everywhere, all over her, the pillow, the sheets, her babies. I run for toilet paper or tissues and try to blot her endless flow. She won't let me pinch her nose, always says it hurts, so the blood continues. She shivers and I try to hold her and comfort her saying it will be over soon. I am wide awake by this time and know that I have little chance of getting any more sleep. Soon, the mess is done, soaking several tissues. Mia wants to sleep with a towel over the bloody spots and next to the tissue box. I agree, because even though I am awake, the thought of changing her bed is not something that I want to think about til the morning. I tuck her back in and she goes right back to sleep. I take all of the blood soaked tissues to the toilet and flush away her night's biohazard. Tomorrow, I will bust out the Oxy spray and try to remove the stains from her pretty pink sheets. She will be thrilled that they are clean, until the next time her nose decides to bleed and then we will do it all over again.

Bathtime for Mommy

2008-11-25T06:15:00.004-06:00

I have been feeling very sore lately. Likely a combination of the stretching of the muscles in preparation for birth and the fact that the bun must weigh around 100lbs. I would love to take a bath, but seeing that we have an ancient, pedestal tub that I can't clean, the idea seems lost.

Last night, the hubby got down and cleaned it, so I could get in and take a leisurely, uninterrupted bath. I'm sure you can see where this is going. I have some strange rules when getting ready to take a bath. You see, while I'm not a filthy person, I find it imperative that I take a quick shower to get all the average grime off. I don't want to sit in any scum, my own or anyone else's really. So, I take a quick shower, turn off the water and move the shower curtains to get ready to fill the tub. If you don't move the shower curtains, they will wrap their cold, wet plastic around you and it feels worse than bathing in your own dirt. YUCK! I am standing there, freezing, while I get the temperature correct. It finally feels hot enough so I sit down, keeping my foot over the drain cover so it doesn't leak. Actually, the real drain cover is missing, so hubby improvised with a Gladware lid, that actually worked better, though I did have to keep my foot on it til the tub was filled. Anyway, I tuck into the warm water, which seems to be draining at an alarming rate. Seems, that the depth of the water, which isn't very high, is overflowing into the overflow drain. I am now understanding that back in the 1920's, when the house was built, that there were no pleasure baths, only get in and get out baths. I stick my foot over the bottom part of the drain and it seems to be halting the water. I try to relax.

This is not a big tub and while I am not exactly Liliputian, I don't consider myself that big. My arms either have to be at my sides, nearly under my body, or hanging over the side, and cold. My legs are bunched up, trying to keep the water in, or they too have to hang out the front of the tub. The bun isn't even wet, in fact, most of the top of my body is already dry and I can't turn over. I am not particularly comfortable.
Then, the unthinkable happens. My 4 year old busts in the door takes off her gown and demands to get in the bath with me. I tell her no, get dressed and go hang downstairs with your daddy and brother. This, of course, doesn't work. I'm not relaxing anyway, so I let it go. She gets dressed, points out that I am naked and decides I need something to play with. What she doesn't see, is that I am taking up the entire bathtub and there is very little water for anything. Like the good girl she is, she opens the cabinet and gets out her rubber ducks, tossing them into the tub and splashing my face with water. They play, we play, whatever, before she decides that my massive tummy would be a great island and sets the ducks on me, concocting this little story along the way. It is rather entertaining, however, not too relaxing. On top of this, I hear the words, "Eggnog," echoing from downstairs from Max. I decide the bathwater is too cold and tell Mia to collect her ducks and let me get out.

Getting out proves interesting. I need a stool to get in and out already, but being big and pregnant and having the stool not there, is another story. I hoof it over the side and grab my towel, get dressed and brush my teeth. Maybe another time.

Soul mates

2008-11-18T06:49:00.004-06:00

Just so you know, this isn't a happy, puffy piece on how you once looked at someone and decided that he/she was your soul mate. It delves into a little more than that, and it isn't going to be comfortable to read.

Soul mate can be defined as a person that is ideally suited to you in temperament, attitude and beliefs. You may like the same movies, the same food, the same sports teams. Or, you may not, but there is something there that clicks and you know it, right off. You may be content to sit in a room and read, something that is usually solo, but you are comfortable enough in your own skin to realize that it is time together, doing something you both like. It may be happily tinkering in the kitchen, trying new recipes, laughing, when it doesn't turn out the way it should. It is many things, and only you know the reason for the attraction.

In my early teens, I had a girlfriend that came to visit her sister in the summers. She was my age, maybe 2 heads taller and had a funny accent. She was from Pennsylvania and even though I am originally from Texas, her accent struck me as really different. She was funny and we clicked. We rode bikes and hung out. It was nice, because she was just next door. I also liked her big sister. She had a little boy that was a year old and my mom liked her too. We all hung out.

Eventually, as military families do, our neighbors moved and I never saw my friend again. I heard about her, from her sister, I knew she was well, graduated from high school and college. She also married and had a little boy.

The newspaper article described them as "soul mates," a couple that loved each other and their little boy more than words could describe. They shared a big, old brick house, that they lovingly restored. I know that they wanted to have another child but were having a hard time with it. My mom told her sister that it had taken us awhile but we had succeeded. She thought it would be good for her sister to hear that it was possible and to keep trying. She wouldn't get the chance.

On November 2, all it took was a handgun to end an entire families life. Not just the husband, that died from a single gunshot wound, but, a wife, that died of multiple gunshot wounds, and a toddler, that died from one gunshot wound. What could motivate your soul mate to take your life? There are claims of depression after a lost job. Whatever the reason, it will remain unknown, and never make sense.

I'm not saying that you shouldn't own a gun. I'm not saying that losing a job isn't a horrible thing to happen. I'm not saying that depression is funny. In fact, I'm not sure what I am really saying. All I know, is that there are two families struggling to understand and put their lives back together in light of a terrible tragedy.

Thoughts of the past

2008-11-11T15:04:00.005-06:00

Today, I was waiting for Mia to come out of preschool when I heard a song on the radio. "Summer Breeze," by Seals and Crofts, dating back to 1972. It seemed funny to be sitting in a fall rainstorm listening to a song about the summer but I guess they were trying to invoke some personal warmth in their listeners, and they did.

I was born in 1969 in Dallas, Texas. My mom was a sahm and my dad worked second shift. I don't believe there was a lot of jasmine blowing through their minds. Mine either, I don't even eat the brownies. We had a brand new house, that was painted in some pretty odd colors. The living room wall was bright yellow, a kitchen wall was bright red/orange. Later, my bedroom became Pepto pink. I had a dog, swing set and a blue tricycle, all the things that a happy childhood has.

I have memories about that time in my life, a lot odd snippets of things that don't make a darn bit of difference now, but that are still clear in my mind. One, is this song. I can remember my dad taking us to Monkey Wards, me not strapped into any type of child restraint, and hearing this song, the hot Dallas wind smothering me and stifling my breath. We were probably riding in the copper colored Buick we had, leaving precious skin stuck to the vinyl seats in the hell-like Texas summer.

I also think back to the gas shortage, where we sat, depending on our license plate number, waiting in a miles long line to get gas at the Gulf station a few blocks from our house. Once, again precious skin lost on a hot day to a car seat.

I think back to my elementary school, right across from our house. I went there for nearly 4 years. I can see it like it was yesterday. Being thrust into the first grade from a kindergarten class that spent most of the day painting and playing with blocks. I traded my blocks for bottle caps for learning to add and subtract, no more dress up and a hateful teacher that spilled paint on my dress.

I remember driving across a city that was shut down by an ice storm to see the Pompeii exhibit at the fairgrounds. It was neat and I learned a lot. Some of the exhibit was in the basement bomb shelter that the park had. The door was painted institutional green and was 4 feet thick and shut like a coffin door, over the stairs and the airless basement. I was terrified because I knew it was a fallout shelter and was worried that we would be stuck in there, or worse, we lived far away, how would we get there in time? Ah, the things a child worries about.

We moved to Colorado when I was 10. The times changed, the music changed, we all changed. And, yet, nothing really changed, the memories are all there, locked in the back of my mind.

Complete meltdown

2008-11-06T16:48:00.002-06:00

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Mia goes to preschool at a nearby church. I have watched lots of kids have a complete meltdown when mommy decides to leave them. Mia has never done this, even on her first day, and I have been thrilled that she has been so cooperative and excited about going. Well... Today was an entirely different story! She wouldn't come into her classroom, wouldn't wash her hands, hang up her jacket or backpack, wouldn't do anything. It was frustrating because I have never, ever seen her do something so crazy. It was like she was a different child. I had to settle her down, which was hard, because she had her legs wrapped around mine like an anaconda. I got her hands washed and her backpack hung up and proceeded to tell her that I, of course, was coming back and that she was wanted for circle time. Nothing worked. Her teacher told me to give her the signal for when I was ready to escape and let her takeover. I felt bad, for all of us. There is always a little girl that cries when her mom leaves and I felt bad leaving Mrs. Martin with another hysterical child. But, I did. I was nearly in tears myself, but I figured it was the best thing for both of us.

I wasn't sure what kind of report I was going to get when I picked Mia up. I was a little shocked that 2 teachers came to the car. Apparently, Mia was fine after I left. I was relieved. Mrs. Martin said I got an A+ in parenting because I did what needed to be done and all was well.

Mia, however, is not wanting to go back next week. I am trying to convince her that she belongs in school, that she always has fun and plays well with her friends. I am hoping it sinks in. I can't bare the thought of another day like today.

Twilight series, again

2008-11-03T10:18:00.004-06:00

Here I am again, going on about those teen books that have swept my friends, as well as myself into a reading frenzy. I am about 200 odd pages from being done with the entire series. I have invested a lot of time reading about these teenage vampires and werewolves. I lost some interest when the werewolves were introduced but plodded through. Now, Bella is knocked up by Edward, on their honeymoon even. I would have thought there might be some mention of birth control, vampire or not. I guess I was wrong. Anyway, so the story goes on. Bella is ravaged by her baby, whatever it is. No one really knows for sure what she is carrying. Now, I am pregnant and find this all a bit unnerving. Especially how she has to drink blood to keep her strength up. Again, when the they think the baby is going to eat its way out of Bella. A little too much for me right now, I guess. Once the child is born, Bella wisely names her Reneesme, or some spelling like that. Very odd. And, I haven't even touched upon the "imprinting". It disturbs me. Jacob, the werewolf that loves Bella, is now the "babysitter" for this blood drinking moppet, and perhaps forever. Imprinting deals with the soulmate theory. It is kind of oogy. Anyway, as Sara told me, it is light reading and certainly not to be taken very seriously. So, I will finish and move on, that is, until 21 November, when I will wobble to the theater with the other mom's to see the movie.

Comments

2008-10-28T06:49:00.005-05:00

I love comments on my blog, however, I don't like being hit with a bunch of idiotic statements by people that trash me. I supposed it is part of having an open blog but I would never trash someone's life, education or family by reading their blog. A blog is a form of free expression, something that is meant to be funny, make you laugh. If you check my comments, you will see that someone with little humor or common sense, for that matter, left me with snide, ridiculous comments. I love that they are posted anonomously, what a coward! The thing is, I don't care or I wouldn't have posted them. They speak for themselves. Ha, ha! They are funny!

If I like Jacob, does that mean I am a pedophile or a zoophile?

2008-10-23T07:44:00.003-05:00

I have to admit that I jumped on the bandwagon and read the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer. A bunch of my mommy friends read them first, with the promise that they were quick to read and still rather enjoyable. I didn't know at first they were a series for teens. Oh, well... I read the first 2 books in 6 days. They are HUGE, for those of you that don't know. I liked them and was glad that I didn't have to purchase them for myself, all 4 books were generously loaned to me. Thanks, Sara and Tracey! Anyway, I am wondering if I will break down and see the movie. I am not particularly fond of the character that plays Edward. He played Cedric Diggory in the Harry Potter series. I don't like that. I didn't want to think it was Cedric that was hot. I don't even really know if I think Edward is hot anyway.

Here is a brief synopsis of what I have read so far. Bella, is a clumsy, beautiful girl with lots of bad luck. Edward is an old vampire that masquerades as a high school senior. He likes the way Bella smells. Nice. He doesn't hunt people anymore, he has become "civilized" and only eats animals that he hunts. Bella is drawn to his weird amber colored eyes and hard, cold body. He is fast and drives a sports car. Sounds like a winning combo.

Bella makes friends with a kid named, Jacob. He is a Native American and is described as tall, dark and brooding. Later, he turns into a werewolf, a concept that I couldn't really stomach. Of course, a vampire is totally realistic. You can see my point, I hope. Jacob becomes Bella's confidante, although he hates the bloodsucker, Edward. She appreciates his hard, hot body, and I'm not sure that I don't mean what you think I mean. There hasn't been any sex in the first 3 books, one can hope for the fourth book. All of this makes me sound like some sex-deprived school girl. I just think it would make things a bit more spicy, though, probably not appropriate for the teen set. She loves both of them, so who knows?

I can't offer much more than this because I am just starting to read the last book. I am betting that Bella and Edward marry and go on a honeymoon to the local blood bank. I don't know... I am kind of rooting for Jacob, though, I mean, he was human, right? A vampire typically sounds kind of sexy and romantic, while a werewolf sounds smelly and furry. Plus, I am allergic to dogs, so that may rule Jacob out. Hmmm... What to do? I guess I will finish the last book and let Stephenie decide for me.

No foxes on Fox

2008-10-20T11:58:00.008-05:00

I used to watch the local news all the time. I used to come home from work, get my dinner and sit down in front of Roger and Cindy. I have seen both in public and was shocked that they aren't nearly as tall as they look on the news. I guess the TV adds height as well as weight, though neither are fat. I have actually seen Cindy, early in the am wearing no makeup! Even newspeople go to Walmart, I guess. One person I thought was kind of hot was Michael Schwanke. He is pretty young, but that's ok. A few years ago, I lived across the street from a big crime scene. A lady was decapitated and burned. I saw a bunch of kids standing around a news guy. It was Michael Schwanke. I headed over, the oldest person by several years to check him, I mean, it out. He was kind of short but otherwise, was pretty cute. It reminds me of that ludicrous movie, "Wayne's World." Wayne and Garth would say, "Schwing," when they saw a hot girl. Well, let me say old Michael got a big, "Schwanke," from me!

Once I married, the local news fell by the wayside. Darling husband seems to be addicted to Fox News. It is ok, but I loathe politics and that is pretty much all they talk about. Or, they pull out some obscure story of a woman stuck on a toilet seat. Nice. Anyway, there are no, I repeat, NO hot newsmen on there. Let's have a look.

I have to say that CNN has the supreme handsome newsman. How can you not love that silver haired, Anderson Cooper? I have heard that he plays for the other team. That is too bad because he is a hottie. Fox? Um, I think that the only guy that can touch Anderson is Sean Hannity. While he is pretty hot, his hair is out of control! It looks like a wig, that needs to be pulled back, as it is meandering too much over his forehead. Still cute though, and pretty much the only reason to watch Hannity and Colmes.

Let's look at Alan Colmes. Maybe we shouldn't. He resembles a skeleton, and not a healthy skeleton. His hair changes color now and then, weird colors. He looks about as good as he sounds on his show, and that isn't good. I am beginning to think it should just be called, "Hannity." One of their guests is another scary guy. Dick Morris used to work for Bill Clinton. They had their spats and apparently, Bill got so mad at Dick, he chased him across the White House lawn and tackled him! I would have loved to see that! Anyway, poor Dick is sooo scary! He wears more makeup than I do and has some seriously puffy hair. I am inclined to believe that once his gig was up with Bill, he went the route of the drag queen. He must make it to Hannity and Colmes within minutes of his show, as witnessed by the swoosh of blush on his chubby cheeks.

If we take a look at the Fox women, we will see what the Fox stands for. Lori Dhue, is a busty, bleach blonde with gigantic, lusty lips. She isn't listed on the personality list anymore. I am wondering what it is that she will "do." Maybe Playboy called her, I don't know.

Megyn Kelly is attractive, though in need of a hairstyle change, like many of the Fox women. She is smart and pretty so she is easier to pay attention to. She is a lawyer and way better to watch than that smarmy Geraldo Rivera.

Uma Pemmaraju is pretty attractive. She is the first Indian/American newscaster. Like the others, she is very intelligent and has a long list of accomplishments. She also has eyes that could burn a hole in you. Literally, they are lasers.

Lis Wiehl is pretty close to Megyn. Both are lawyers, attractive, blond and in desperate need of an update in the hair department.

Yet another Fox blond, is Ainsley Earhardt. Did I forget to mention she is another blond? Didn't think so. She has a journalism degree and was named "Best Personality of the Year," in Columbia, SC. No lawyer, but I guess it doesn't matter when you are a guy, married or not, and want your wife/girlfriend to think you are watching the news to get something, other than a boner, out of it.

I really don't want to get into Ann Colter. I worked in a prison and she scares me. Personally, I think that she and Hannity are in the coat closet during commercials. She is smart, brash and has alot of blond hair. Like most of the other women, she wears short skirts. What is this all about? I don't see the men strutting around in Speedos and I suppose that is a good thing. Dick Morris in a Speedo would likely make me so ill, that Greta Van Susteren would probably start looking good. YIKES!

Copycat

2008-10-19T09:46:00.002-05:00

I know, I know, this isn't good, but I am going to do it anyway. First off, I am going to quit using the term "blogger," it sounds manly, and the people on my bloglist are all women. I am instead going to use the term, "bloggette," I don't care if someone else came up with it, whatever, I am going to use it. So, here I go.

A fellow "bloggette," Chantel, posted a desire to hear about the people that visit her blog. She has a few great blogs, about the kids, the twins, her photography, her life and gets hits from all over. She has asked that comments be left, regarding who you are and where you're from. I would also like to do this.

I get alot of hits from Wichita, obviously, but there are the others, that stop in from Bahrain, Qatar, Tijuana etc. I am interested in their stories.

Thanks, Chantel for letting me copy, well, you didn't know, but thanks, just the same!

Leave a comment and thanks!

Dear Obama...

2008-10-16T12:13:00.003-05:00

Dear Obama,

I think that it is great that you are going to be the next President of the United States! I thought I would give you an idea of why I think you are such a great guy and perfect for the job.

I am sitting here watching a DVD of my unborn baby. I am about 7 months pregnant with another little girl. She looks pretty good but I am feeling depressed and am thinking of having an abortion. I know it is late term but I have heard that you are a champion of women's reproductive rights. I hear that means that late term abortions are ok, as long as I get a doctor's note, saying that I am depressed and it is all because of the child I'm carrying. Well, I haven't slept much lately, so I am hoping to qualify for that note. Once, the baby is aborted, she will be thrown in the trash, even if she is breathing. What was that nurse's name that held that little boy as he died? I want her there, so at least there is some comfort for the child I killed. Thanks for your vote!

You know, I think I like Bill Ayers. He seems cool. Maybe I could start my political career in his living room. I am willing to overlook the fact that he tried to blow up police stations and the Pentagon and shows zero remorse. That is a tough guy and I would be proud to have him assigned to any government office. Maybe Secretary of Defense would be a good position. Mingle the domestic terrorists and the foreign terrorists. Maybe you could book a nice hotel for a big reunion/get together for all of the people that hate us in the world. I hear Hamas endorses you! That is great news! Congrats on that! Maybe you can invite them too.

I hear Acorn is quite the organization. Good for you for helping people get housing etc. I hear that they are having a bang up year getting people registered to vote. I can't believe that Mickey Mouse has registered! That is damn fine news. There are Seven Dwarfs, so that would be 7 more votes! They might need a place to live too. As far as I know, they are white, so maybe you could make an exception. If you need more cigarettes, let me know, I will go buy some at QT, so you can hand them out to those people that keep registering. I must say that cigarettes and cash will get you a long way. To be honest with you, that is how I enticed my husband into marrying me. I added a little booze, but figure it's all good!

You know, I agree with Michelle about how she is only recently proud of the US. We pretty much suck on all fronts and I for one am glad she has the balls to tell it like it is. Maybe she should have been your choice for VP. Let Biden go back to that restaurant he likes. Oh, I forgot, it closed a long time ago. It's ok because I hear his memory is failing. Something about a helicopter forced down. Yes, snowstorms are a bitch! Anyway, I am proud of this country more than ever. If we can get Mickey Mouse to register to vote, then hot damn, we are ready for anything!

You know, I wanted to point out that I am not a huge fan of McCain either. He is an old man, a guy that was tortured daily, while in the Hanoi Hilton. Man, I hear Hilton's are really nice! Maybe I will ask my husband if we can go to one. We should have plenty of money, after all of his earnings go to pay for everyone to have healthcare. That reminds me, I am willing to give up my choice of doctor's just so your plan will work. If I get really sick or one of my kids does, I am totally willing to wait months to see whatever doctor will see me and if I need surgery, I will wait as long as it takes. Man, Socialist medicine ROCKS!

In conclusion, I am thrilled that you are President! Just so you know, I don't care if you are black either. I certainly don't consider myself a racist, anytime a person with little political background and shady friends want to run for office, I will show them my support, no matter what their color. As for Sarah, she may have better legs, but you have better policy.

Thanks and have a nice day!

Tagged

2008-10-16T08:49:00.002-05:00

I was tagged by a fellow blogger to post a picture from my sixth album. Well, I don't even own six photo albums, so was a bit stuck. I had to email Diane, the tagger, and get some clarification. Yes, I am a dork! Anyway, this is a picture of Mia, when she was but a wee tiny girl, about a month old. She is sooo tiny, still way under 6lbs. It is so cute because her daddy is a big guy and she is such a little baby.

My cat

2008-10-10T17:48:00.007-05:00

I have had my feline, Sofie, for almost 10 years. Because she is a cat, she owns me, not the other way around, I suppose. The Sof, Sof the Flof(those rhyme), Flofious are all names she is called. I got her because I was having a huge amount of stress at work and read that a pet could be very relaxing. I'm allergic to dogs so a cat, which seems much less work, seemed to be am option worth exploring. So, I went to Petsmart to adopt a cat.

The cats are behind glass doors, like a cat shop or maybe a cathouse. They are all in cages and you have to ask to go in. There were a bunch, mostly sleeping, others yawning, bored but pleased in their own cat way. I came to the cage that belonged to the Sof. She was fat, black striped with brownish fur and a cute, pink little nose. She seemed to actually have interest in me. She meowed and stuck her paw out at me. I had the girl open the cage and the Sof jumped out into my arms, wrapped her arms around my neck and started to purr. Apparently, I was going to be leaving with her. I signed the forms and packed her off.

She is a very sweet, fat kitty. She would always sleep at the top of my pillow and occasionally go for a snuggle under the covers. All that changed when I married my husband. Dogs and cats just don't care for each other. The dogs took over the bed, even the undercover snuggle part. We don't have the dogs anymore, so the Sof makes herself comfy next to me again. Now that I am pregnant, Sof cuddles in the curve of my even expanding tummy. I am guessing she thinks that is her female kitty duty, to keep me and the baby warm. I like it. I don't like the early morning kisses where her little tongue lodges into my nostril. The eyelid kisses also become a little painful.

All in all, Sofie has been a good cat. She is friendly and outgoing, where most cats are standoffish and aloof. She likes to be in the action and will go for a tummy scratch on whoever's lap she thinks looks appealing. Sofie is probably the best pet I have ever had. I will miss her terribly when she is gone.

Jobs-Part 1

2008-10-02T08:56:00.002-05:00

I have had many, many jobs, some interesting, some dreadfully boring. What better place to share all of my occupational woes!

My first job came at 17, right after high school. I wasn't allowed to have a job during high school so that my grades would remain good and to allow for all of my extracurricular activities, dating and drinking. The last part isn't serious, my parents didn't really know about the drinking and I didn't really date all that much. Anyway, after I graduated and got the cast off my ankle, I was expected to get a job. Trouble is, I really didn't know how to do anything.

Wendy's was hiring and somehow I finagled an interview. I was hired on the spot to be the salad bar girl during peak lunch times. I had to wear navy blue pants, that could have walked on their own, and a baby blue/white striped polyester shirt. Who doesn't love polyester? I also had to wear a hat. Not a big problem but this was the 80'2 and I had hair out to THERE. I put it into a ponytail and stuffed into my hat.

I showed up on the first day and was told that I would be trained by a girl a bit older than me, named Annette. That would be fine until I found she was deaf. She could speak a bit but I knew no sign language. We embarked on our journey into the freezer, where I would spend most of my day. We took a cart that was filled with several beige, plastic containers, all of which held the salad bar items. I would like to mention that I did not wear gloves, had few spoons and wore no coat. I was covered in Ranch dressing and potato salad. I was cold too. We hauled all the stuff out there and placed it in the iced salad bar. I looked like I had taken a bath in salad dressing. I even had it in my bra. It was a mess!

Time to get the lettuce. I had no idea where it was kept, not in the freezer, I knew. Annette gestured towards a gigantic yellow trash container. It was on wheels so I attempted to move it. I couldn't. It was full of water and lettuce. Here is where it gets interesting. I was to take a big salad bowl, dip it in and make sure it was full for the salad crowd. I don't think the salad crowd would be excited to know that the lettuce was recycled. I know I wasn't thrilled. I set it in the lettuce bowl place and went on with my business, knowing that recycled lettuce was probably the least of my worries.

I was also in charge of baked potatoes. I had to scrub them with steel wool. Little pieces of it stuck to my fingers and the potatoes. It was kind of scary, the thought of steel wool in your baked potato but I pressed on. Thank God, I didn't have to peel them. I went to put them all in foil, when I dropped one. Oh, the horrors of a Wendy's floor. Annette gestured that I wrap it up and send it on its way. I did.

Ok, so I am running the salad bar and on potato duty. Turns out, I am also in charge of chicken frying. Now, the other girl that started the same day I did, was making fries. Making fries, that is it. Meanwhile, I am running the gauntlet of salad bar, potatoes and chicken frying. Nice.

There are alot of things scary in a fast food restaraunt. I believe anything with hot oil that has the potential to singe your armhair, eyebrows or melt your skin is dangerous. I wasn't thrilled with having to toss frozen chicken into a fryer. The ice crystals basically blew up on you, no matter how far away you stood. Once, I dropped one of the patties on the floor. I figured I would throw it away. Nope, toss it in, the hot oil would kill the Ebola found on the floor.

Working at Wendy's during the lunch rush pretty much sucked. Guys would try to talk to me and ask me out. I'm not sure why, when I was covered in various vegetables, dressing, jello, steel wool and grease. I was nice but never accepted one of the tempting offers. I worked at Wendy's for 3 or 4 months. It was about all I could stand. No more food service for me.

A job for today

2008-10-01T15:17:00.007-05:00

Last Thursday, my wonderful hubby came in the door, hot(he's always hot) and mumbling that we had to take his truck to the repair shop NOW! As I scrambled to get Mia and myself, purse, keys, phone and whatever else into my car, I asked why. Apparently, the brake warning light came on, they weren't working that well and I guess there was a smell. Ok, good enough. We get to the place, it belongs to a former neighbor and someone we trust with our cars. They trusted us with their cat so I guess it's all good. We get there and they are closed, locked up, so we throw the keys in the little slot and off we go.

I get a call the next day, while sitting in the OB/GYN's office, no less, that there are brake problems. Ok, obvious, call my husband because I am about to be inspected by the doctor himself. I hear later that the truck will be done around 230.

Flash forward. I am now 8 days without wheels. Apparently, the part came and they broke it! Nice, I thought you were qualified mechanics. I ask hubby if I can call and "vent" nicely about the situation. He says ok. I am beyond po'd at these people. I explain to the guy all of the stuff I have, teen, toddler and a bun in the oven. He apologizes, but not profusely by any means. I want some honest, begging apologies. I don't get it. I question why we had to wait 1 day for a part and now we have to wait 5. He says the shop will be closed Thursday and Friday but would I like to rent a car for $25? Hello? NO! I think at this point, you should give me one and be done with this. You have alot of nice Range Rover's sitting there. Get in and get over here. Nope, nothing. So, maybe the truck will be done on Monday, maybe not. The owner won't be back until the 10th, so we can't even complain to him. I am housebound. We had places to go and people to see. If it isn't done on Monday, there will be a pregnant woman in the shop giving them a lashing they will never forget.

AAAHHH!

2008-09-27T12:19:00.002-05:00

I was blow drying my hair this morning and I saw something that was a bit startling! I was trying to do all of the fancy blow dryer moves I've been taught, yes, I suck at them, but I still make an attempt, when I saw SOMETHING in my hair. I am pretty blind and the mirror is pretty far away but it looked like, like dandruff! Not pretty, since I tend to favor black shirts and I was wearing one at this time, so really not pretty. I stop blow drying and get up on the sink to get a closer look. Yes, I am 6 months pregnant with a ginormous stomach but this was something that required a much, much closer look. I start moving the brush around and yup, I see something. It isn't really white, more like silver. I am not to used to seeing dandruff, but silver dandruff? I need an even closer look. I get down off the cabinet and begin to hunt for my 100X magnifying mirror. I haven't used it in a long time because it literally shows everything, including my clogged pores and hair that has moved from my head to around my lip area. It is ghastly, to say the least. I plug it in a prepare myself to see this silver dandruff. I lift my hair around and try checking for the sparkling confetti that apparently is littering my head. I see it. It isn't dandruff, something that I believe is curable with some Head and Shoulders or a mohawk. It is much, much worse. There is a healthy crop of silver hair shining in all its glory at me. Hmmm... Guess that it is time to hit the bottle, a Clairol bottle.

Up all night

2008-09-26T11:30:00.007-05:00

Last night was a really bad night. I didn't sleep because I had to pee about a hundred times, couldn't breathe and had a sore throat. Mia started to cough, so I got her a drink of water. Of course, I can't ever get back to sleep, so I started to think about useless things that would essentially waste my sleepy time.

Have you ever thought about an old TV show and who its characters were? I remember one time, pre-Internet, that a roommate and I stayed up half the night trying to think of who the nerdy girl was on "Head of the Class." We could name every person by character name and most by real name but could not remember her character name. We stayed up til past midnight and discussed other shows we used to watch. We gave up, after wasting precious ZZZ time, and went to bed. About an hour later, as I was drifting off, my roommate opened my door and said only, "Janice." I knew what she meant and promptly drifted off.

Last night, I got up thinking about "Eight is Enough." Why? That is the big question. I was thinking about how many kids of each sex there were. Was it like the Brady Bunch, 4 and 4? Well, I could only account for 3 boys, including that nasty Willie Aames, and 4 girls. I could have easily gotten up to check one of many Internet sites, but I didn't because I figured I would have to go to the bathroom. So, instead I agonized over who the fourth boy was. I could remember that the oldest girl, died of a drug overdose. That didn't really help me though. So, I just laid there.

Then, I got to thinking about the vile Willie Aames. Something about his mop of creepy curls got me going. I was thinking of that show that he was on with Chachi. Seemed like it was on for a long time but because of old Willie Aames, I couldn't bring myself to watch it. And what about Scott Baio? What is his problem? That was a hottie back in the day. He is kind of hot in that 40's way now. I know that for some odd reason, that he and Joanie hooked up in real life. Now, there is someone with a mop of weird curls too. Maybe I have some kind of curly bias. I don't think I do, but those two really creep me out from a hairstyle type way. I guess that VH1 eventually helped him find love. I don't know because I never watched that either. Maybe they have moved on to that guy from Poison.

Here is someone else that I saw the other day, Biz Markie. He apparently is now appealing to the younger set by spitting and sputtering around on "Yo Gabba Gabba." Man, what was that song he sang about a 100 years ago? I thought about that for awhile but moved on, figuring that "Yo Gabba Gabba" is a lot more interesting to try and analyze. I majored in psychology in college and I still can't figure that mess out. There is the pink girl, who looks like garlic, the yellow robot, the green, fuzzy thing and then that odd red deal. You can't miss him, he is of the phallic orientation with studs. Hmmm, somehow Freudian, and studded for her pleasure. I forgot that blue one. And, what about this DJ Lance? Oh, my.

In the end, I was up about 4 hours, yet never got out of my bed to check any of my missing info on "Eight is Enough." The next morning, I did check and there were only 3 boys on the show. I had missed a girl. She had frizzy, curly hair. How could I forget?

Shoe blog

2008-09-25T12:50:00.006-05:00

If you know me, you know I love shoes! My feet don't grow, at least not much, so I can buy a lot of shoes and not have to worry. I am particularly fond of the Shoeshine blog. A friend from the mommy board I read faithfully, filled us in about this blog. The featured shoes are always amazing! One of the high points, is that nearly all of these shoes are what I call cost effective, or you can buy a bunch because they are on sale! You have to love that!

I recently bought a NWT(new with tag, for you non-shoppers)pair of Merrell tennies from shopgoodwill.com. They are an army green suede. Merrell's are expensive so I was pleased to find them for such a good deal. I won the auction and am excited to get them.

My mom is also a shoe junkie. We used to wear the same size, but sadly, we don't anymore. I grew, what a shock. We love Born shoes but can't switch anymore. Bummer.

No one wants to trade shoes with me and that makes me sad. I am hoping that one of my daughters will have the same size feet as me and will have excellent taste in shoes. I also hope I'm still cool enough to share with them. I can just hear them, "Mom, get out of my closet. You can't borrow my shoes!" I will then get my walker and hobble off to my room to sulk.

Share the blog wealth

2008-09-13T09:36:00.003-05:00

I have been cruising lots of blogs, looking for some to pick up, so to speak. There are so many talented, crazy, caring, creative mom's out there, that you can't help but want to link to their blogs and have a gander. I have added a couple that I had a look at, that were fun. How can you not get a laugh at a mom that has lip balm, scrapbooking, photo, sewing and jewelry supplies hanging around her house? Of course, you aren't really laughing because you have the same crap somewhere in your house and if you had the time to find it and sort it, you would. Maybe, anyway.

So, please have a look and leave a comment, that is what us bloggers like. Share the wealth and add them to your blog read list. It will be appreciated.

The village called. They are demanding their idiots back NOW!

2008-09-08T07:42:00.005-05:00

We packed alot of fun into our 2 1/2 days in Las Vegas. There were alot of highs and alot of lows. The heat, the constant need for water, the constant need to pee, and the heat all played into how we spent our days. I don't regret going, even though it was probably not the smartest move on my part. I will always remember our "babymoon."

We had to get up too early in order to make our flight. McDonald's and Starbucks were in the hotel food court, so we grabbed our food and then grabbed a cab to the airport. It was already hot, not that we were shocked by that. I knew that I would need a snack and water bottle for the flight, unless I wanted to pay an exorbitant fee on board. I was through the security checkpoint, when I was told that if I didn't drink my water, it would be confiscated. I couldn't down that much water, lest I need to pee 20 times on the flight. Whatever. I later heard they let a guy bring a coconut on board. Nice.

In the back of my mind, I was wondering about Clay Center's finest from our original flight. I had already seen several of the other Kansas people in the terminal and figured that it would probably be sooner rather than later, that we would be reacquainted with the Fab 4. I was on my way to the bathroom, and I heard him, the guy that sat in front of me that acted as though he had never been on a plane before. I ducked in before he saw me. He had a t-shirt indicating that he had played in a poker tournament in downtown Vegas. I had to wonder if prostitutes had been involved along with all of the free drinking I'm sure they did. I wanted to hurl just from the thought. Not suprisingly, he went right for the airport slots. I have always heard that you never play the slots there, as there is little return. I supposed it would have been polite of me to inform him, but decided against it. I wasn't feeling very charitable that morning, it was too early.

We were called to board and sat in the next to last row. We heard the guys get on, heck, everyone did. We were spared the details of the trip since they sat in the front. I hope they had good luck.

I fell asleep shortly into the flight, when it was announced over the intercom that there was a passenger with a medical emergency and were there any medical types on board. I worked for a couple of 911's and a prison and knew how to administer CPR, deliver babies and a host of other things. Hubby refrained me, saying he knew CPR and wasn't jumping out of his seat. Apparently, a female passenger had passed out due to anxiety about flying. The flight attendant put back the paddles, thank goodness, and assured us rear passengers that the woman was ok. No baby delivering today, darn it.

All in all, it was a great trip. I am hoping that when the girls are grown, hubby and I can go on another weekend trip. I am figuring we will be about 50. Then, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. (Horrible cliche, I know! LOL!)

Bags, Bags and More Bags

2008-09-07T15:59:00.010-05:00

I like purses. Call them what you like, bags, purses, handbags, whatever, I love them. I know that I am hardly alone in this intense love of that thing that carries all my crap on a day to day basis. I don't get too crazy. I rarely change my bag to match my outfit, there is too much stuff to move, too much loose change, too many lipsticks floating around in the bottom. I just stick to what I like and change when I get bored.

My purse of choice is Coach. I first encountered the Coach brand in 1992. I was working at Spiegel, the catalog place. In our customer service training, we looked at real orders and pretended to fix them, answer questions etc. One of the items listed on this order was a "Coach Station bag." No one knew what it was. I quickly found a catalog and determined that it was a nice leather purse. I looked at the others and decided that I had to have a Coach Station bag. It was admittedly pricey, over $100. I had never owned a purse that cost more than $20. I never thought about it, I guess. Now, I had a 40% discount and was more than eager to use it!

A few days later, I got a notice that something was waiting in the mailroom for me. I tore into the box like it was Christmas morning! Wrapped in Coach imprinted paper was my navy Coach Station bag. I loved it and put all of my stuff into it immediately, no matter that I was supposed to be working. Work could wait, this was the bag of a lifetime and nothing could keep me from it. I felt the nice leather and played around with the brass hardware. I was in purse love.

Several Coach bags followed this initial purchase. Some with the discount, and when I moved on, I paid full price. I can't count how many I have had and fear that the knowledge would shock me. I have my favorites. My Ali was a thrill that nearly made me pass out. My husband and I took a weekend jaunt to Chicago, one February. I wanted to see this bag. It was beautiful, heavy leather the color of a baseball glove with sturdy brass hardware. We looked like crap, it was cold, we were windblown and red nosed. Hubby was fighting off SARS or some other snotty disease. I approached the salesman and asked if he had an Ali. He looked me up and down and said they had been removed and were only at the flagship store, 3 blocks away. We left, I felt scorned by the hoard of gay salesman. We grabbed a cab and went to the flagship store. I was impressed. There were saleswomen all over and it was a 2 story store! We were approached and I asked if there was an Ali to be seen. I was shown the shelf and there she was! Amazing. My desperately ill husband said to me, "Why don't you get it? I know you have had your eye on it for awhile." I nearly lost conciousness. Before he could come to his senses, it was wrapped and we were in line to pay. Grabbing the bag, I ran out before he could change his mind. I held that bag like it was full of gold. Upon return to our hotel room, I dumped everything out of my other purse, a Kate Landry, and stuffed everything into my new bag. I don't know what caused my husband to give into my Ali whim. I am thinking it might have been too many coffee's from Starbucks. The caffeine somehow muddied his thought process.

Not too long ago, I read a book about purses, Hermes specifically. It was called Bringing Home the Birkin, by Michael Tonello. It was a thoroughly entertaining read. Mr. Tonello chases the Hermes Birkin bag, a purse that costs more than most cars, at least cars that the average person can afford. He has a very successful career eBaying Hermes merchandise, spending over a $1,000,000 to supply his clientele. His trials and tribulations are detailed in this humourous book, all encased in a croc look cover. Wanna read it? I have a copy to give, granted, I read it first, but I don't have Hermes or Coach sponsoring my site, or sending me anything free, so a second hand copy will have to do. If you are interested, leave a comment or picture detailing your favorite bag and what it cost. It doesn't have to be a Coach or even a designer bag, just one that you love. Tell me why you love it, where it was purchased and for how much. I have a purse from Goodwill that I love(almost) as much as my Coach collection, so anything goes. Leave your comments and I will select a comment on September 15th. I can't wait to read the comments! Please leave your name and email address.

The damn, dam tour.

2008-09-06T08:46:00.006-05:00

Hubby and I thought it best to rent a car to drive ourselves to Hoover Dam. In reality, the dam isn't that far from Vegas and would afford us more time on the tour and in the visitors center. There are lots of interesting things to see, and I missed quite a bit last time I went, due to an unforeseen event, so I wanted to see it all.

We got out of Vegas, somehow, and found the highway that would lead us to the dam. We pulled out the GPS because we missed the turn. The GPS was not functioning and kept giving the message that no satellite could be found. Hello? We were still in town, not in the middle of nowhere, so why wouldn't the darn thing work? A call to computer guru brother in law, would solve the problem, we hoped. Nope, he wasn't sure why the darn thing wasn't finding the satellite either. We had a nice chat with him anyway.

It is a nice drive to the dam, if you like looking at nothing. It is just a bunch of rocks, maybe like a really hot moon. Nearing the dam, we could see the new, scary bridge across the river. I won't go on it but it is supposed to alleviate the congestion that the bridge road has. It looks like something that would fall down in a strong wind, though I'm sure it is a bit more safe than that. I still won't ever go on it.

We pay the parking lady $7 and park the rental car. It is hot and we are sweating before we get into the sun. I, of course, have to pee. There is, of course, a line a mile long in the ladies room. There are no bathrooms in the dam so you are out of luck. Have I mentioned that it is scorching hot???

The extended tour was leaving soon, so we paid and got our tickets. Only, it wasn't a ticket, it was a yellow plastic hardhat. Not even a real one, a Bob the Builder type, flimsy. I laughed at the people that actually wore them, I, at least at the forethought to ask if it was mandatory.

The tour begins and I already have to pee. The dam guide stuffs a million of us in the elevator and off we go. People are manhandling my pg tummy and I didn't like it. I could barely breathe. We are led around like a group of preschoolers, examining nooks and crannies that should have been left to rodents or at least something smaller than the average human. I had to duck in places and I am not a shining example of height.

The guide points out all of the fine Art Deco details. I must ask, why does the, damn dam have to have terazzo floors? It is all very nice but I still have to pee and believe that there are more elevator rides to endure. In one place, we walked down a narrow, rounded tunnel to an open set of louvers. I wouldn't have minded having a gander, but there was this grate covered hole that you had to cross. I looked down it and could not see any trace of a bottom. Sorry, unless you want to back everyone up so I can take a running jump over it, not happening for me. I hung back, sweating and needing to pee.

Don't know if I mentioned that it was hot! My back was sweating and I am horrified to mention this fact.

Finally, we were all wedged in the damn dam's elevators and deposited in the middle of the dam, on the road. It was hot! I took a quick look and sat down. Yep, right down on the sidewalk in the blazing sun. The guide pronounced the tour over and I bolted for the nearest building with a bathroom and AC. Turns out it was the original visitor center. It was cool and that is really all I was looking for. Once my sweaty husband caught up with me, it was time for the show to begin. All 4 of us that showed up, sat in chairs that hadn't been replaced in 50 years. They were hard and we had no room to stretch our legs. This was a place that was built when the average American must have been barely 5' tall.

A huge, and ancient, topographic map lit up and told us the story of every damn, dam for several hundred miles. It was nice to get some air but the story wasn't that interesting. Maybe the new visitor center would be more interesting.

I have to waddle across the street and traffic to get to the new place. It is pretty neat and has a bonus elevator to get to the top. You could see the scary new bridge and straight down the dam. It was neat but hot so I went back in and sat on a bench that was conveniently placed on a vent! Bonus! Pretty soon, there was the sound of a siren. I have to believe it was an ambulance sent to help a pregnant woman that was dehydrated and needed to pee.

Eating for 2 or 3, or maybe even 4

2008-08-31T09:46:00.005-05:00

One of the greatest things about Las Vegas is the food. Yes, the food was one thing I was looking forward to. I have been to a few of the buffets and enjoyed them. For instance, the Rio breakfast buffet features all of the customary breakfast food and then some. I vividly remember eating cannoli for breakfast. Although I love cannoli, I love something on the Rio buffet better than that. They had Eggs Benedict! I love, love, love Eggs Benedict. I could eat several for breakfast each day, no matter that my arteries are hardening and am nearing heart attack stages. Yes, they are that good. We have made them at home on occasion, but it just doesn't compare with the fact that I could eat 10 at once and more would just magically appear in the tray. We didn't make it to the Rio's eggs Benedict feast, I have to admit, I was a little bummed. The buffet wasn't too shabby at the Monte Carlo, and it was free! You can't get better than that.

Ah, the Bellagio! The fountains are beautiful, the shops loaded with stuff I can't afford, and don't really want, the buffet, GIANT! Hubby and I got their early, my guess was that we would have to wait. We had our tickets for Mystere and didn't want to be late and wanted enough time to fill our faces. Upon arrival, there was a line. It wasn't bad and became even better when a random guy gave us the nod and said it was every bit worth the wait. We forked over the $80 and were led to our table, just a few steps from what I can only call a culinary heaven. We grabbed our plates and went off in search of sustenance. WOW! I started off with about 100 pieces of different kinds of cheese. Wound my way around the massive place and added Chicken Wellington, tortellini, steak, peeled shrimp, and the best, crab legs! They were actually already split so that lifting the sweet crabmeat was easy and didn't require a million Wet Wipes. We ate with the relish of a death row inmate. While hubby was off reloading, I managed to suck in a piece of the delicate crust of the Chicken Wellington. Now, here is the dilemma. Hubby and I went to Abuelo's one night. They have good chips so, of course, I was loading up. One sliver of chip lodged in my throat. I could talk etc but could feel it poking me in the throat! No amount of coughing could dislodge the piece. At this point, I am thinking I am going to die at Abuelo's. I excuse myself and race to the ladies room, dodging the unsuspecting patrons waiting to get a table. A lot of them didn't bother to move for the woman holding her mouth and dashing around like an idiot. How rude. Anyway, I get into the stall and proceed to throw up the offending piece of chip. Cheese comes out of my nose. I am disgusted. I don't throw up, that's a fact, this time I had to make the exception or risk death, or you know, puking on the table or something. Back to the chicken, I wasn't sure what to do. I drank a bunch and cleared my throat so much that I thought the Asian family next to me was going to move. I started to get a little irritated when the all pulled out their cameras and started snapping pictures of the pregnant, choking American woman. Nothing against anyone Asian, mind you. Eventually, I somehow managed to swallow the offending piece of crust and went back to the buffet for seconds or maybe it was thirds. The family actually asked my darling husband to take their pictures! I guess they figured it was the least they could do since we were practically related. It isn't every day that another tourist hacks up all kind of phlegm in your direction.

We finished with dessert/desserts. They were all such cute little designer treats. All in tiny little, ruffled cups, so small that I could easily line a dinner plate with 10 and still have a little room left over.

You can't beat Vegas for eating. Not everyone gambles, but everyone eats. And eats, and eats and eats.

Alone at last!

2008-08-26T10:59:00.002-05:00

I dropped Mia off at her first day of preschool. I was nervous, of course, it is a big step for both of us, even if it is only 2 1/2 hours, twice a week. We packed her up, took some pictures and she was ready to go.

I am shocked that she goes in, kisses me goodbye and begins to play. I am happy but sad still. She is my little girl and I miss her.

I head off to get the dry cleaning and a free iced coffee at McDonald's, all is well. I get home, and... Nothing, I am alone and don't know what to do. I decided to play a bit of Scrabble and lose miserably. Reading doesn't sound interesting and I don't like TV. I try to think of something to do. I could run around naked, maybe put on some music? I could sit on the sofa and just throw out some swear words? Um, I could read my email? I need to clean the kitchen. Well, that doesn't sound very fun, so I don't.

I have brainstormed alot and have come up empty. Hmmm... It is now time to go get Mia. Where has the time gone?

Open House

2008-08-26T09:42:00.006-05:00

I am going off my Vegas rant to share a little about middle school open house. I am attending tonight, alone, my husband giving me a night out, so to speak. Plus, now that I am pg, I can use it to sneak away, with the excuse that my water broke or something like that.

To say that open house is exciting is really a lie. It is boring, filled with the same monotone headmaster that has been there for years and still has nothing interesting to say and no interesting way to say it. We get our folder of info and are supposed to head out to the classrooms to meet the teachers. The teachers haven't changed so I am going to skip that part of the evening. At this point of the year, 3 whole days, the kids don't have art or anything to display. I have never understood why open house is so early.

The fun part is the introductions of the new PTO officers. I don't know these woman at all. No idea how they got elected and for the most part, don't want to hear them speak. No offense, there really isn't anything interesting for them to say. It is very cliquey, I understand, but come on, no one really cares about how you are good with keeping your crap organized. KWIM?

I always look forward to the yearly ice cream social. While I'm definetly not social, I do like ice cream. Yeah, I know, for what we pay for this event, we could go buy several gallons of whatever flavor we choose, but it is for the school so we suck it up and eat a ton.

Another big event at school is the winter carnival. The school goes all out with neat decorations, lots of games and bouncy houses. Now, I have a little bit of experience with bouncy houses. I think they are a blast, but can't convince the other parents that maybe they could let off a little steam, let there hair down from their normal snobbishness and have some fun.

Then, there is the dreaded cake walk! Just the words "cake walk" puts the fear in all parents. It is the worst job at the carnival. Kids, and some adults, can't figure out that you walk in a circle on some numbers, when the music stops, the number called wins the cake. Hello??? There are clearly people that need to come out of the cake walk cave and get with the program. I am going to leave the details at that because just the thought of how hubby and I worked the cake walk for 2 hours is enough to make me want to find a small place to hide in.

Then, there are the donations of everything needed to run these yearly events. You name it and it is needed. Don't get me wrong, it is all for a good cause, I don't mind. I can always donate a cake or some cookies. Never a pie though. Pies seem to make the headmaster a little giddy. One year, he brazenly announced, "Men, bid on your wives pies. You don't want another man to eat your wife's pie!" Well, no, certainly not! I have never had to stifle a laugh so hard as I did right then. Of course, none of the parents moved a muscle, yet again proving that I am not meant to be in the prescence of such proper people.

So, tonight, I am off to open house. I will be sitting with all of the other parents, trying not to doze off, fart or do anything else that might repulse my neighbor. I will probably somehow get signed up for the cake walk again. I hope there are no pies!

Timeshare:HA, HA!

2008-08-24T17:12:00.008-05:00

Hubby and I had just exited the Monte Carlo, when we were accosted by a pregnant woman, offering free buffets at our own hotel. Well, we like to eat so that looked appealing. After being corralled over to a small building, we were assailed by a spiky haired, young, smooth talking guy. Why we could see a free Vegas show if we would visit his property and give him our opinion. We demanded to see the show list. There was Lance Burton, La Cage, Follies and one that piqued my interest, "Mystere." Mystere has been in Vegas for quite some time and has won rave reviews. Ok, what do we have to do??? Just offer and opinion is all it will take to get the tickets. If you know me, you know that I am not short of an opinion on anything. I was perfect for the job. Now, darling husband, is the pragmatic one of us, doesn't normally get crazy over anything, and would, in general, prefer I keep my big mouth shut. Dang, this will be fun, with free stuff to boot!

The next morning, we wind our way through the casino to the place we are assured we will be picked up. This resort is next to Mandalay Bay. I can see Mandalay Bay but it is about 10 miles by walk. Not really, but a Las Vegas block is easily the equivalent to 6 regular blocks anywhere else. We wait with the other suckers and hope that this shuttle comes before I pass out from lack of water. I am near passing out from the heat and the sheer boredom. The big fun was yet to come!

Hubby and I had discussed how to handle these hard sell, timeshare sales idiots. We thought of saying that we were buying at the condos next door to the Monte Carlo. They were $650,00, yes, American, to start. I thought I could say I was a Koch but figured they wouldn't know who I meant. We had some pretty fabulous stories cooked up, we would have to see what game they played before we played ours.

We are escorted with all of the other suckers into a waiting room filled with oddly dressed women and Hawaiian shirt clad men. They called us to meet and move to the room where they put the screws to you. One of the guys, Hans, had a fake tan, with slicked back bleach blond hair. I have never laughed harder at someone, that probably isn't true, but I had to stifle myself when he got onto the elevator with us. When he mentioned there were "nibblies," I nearly lost it. Our guy was named Steve. Not very interesting, but worthy of the game we thought we might play.

There was a lot of small talk. Blah, blah, blah. Steve said he had been in the Air Force for 20 odd years. Then, he found out he had the "Big C." I really had to search my brain for what the Big C was. Clearly, my brain wasn't functioning in the heat because I it took me forever to figure out what he was referring to. Idiot, doorknob, jackass, goofball, none of those start with c. Oh! He meant cancer! He was actually joking about having cancer. Now, that is something to get a hoot over. NOT!

After a ridiculous spiel about who knows what, we watched a cool video about the destruction of some of Vegas' greatest landmarks. I still don't really know what they were getting at but I was eating a huge chocolate chip cookie and really could have cared less. Some old guy, proclaiming to be a former Vegas weatherman, gave us a canned lecture that required alot of canned applause from the idiot sales staff. Man, the things we will endure for some tickets to a show.

After what seemed like forever, with promises of trips wherever we wanted, or at least to all of the places this place shared with, we were released with Steve to have a look at the grounds. There was a fabulous pool with a sandy beach, cool. We were escorted into the models for a look see. Granite counter tops, stainless appliances, flat screen tv's, a jacuzzi tub in the master bedroom, all very nice. A stack washer and dryer in a closet. Ok, when I take a vacation, I sure as heck don't want to see a kitchen or any type of laundry facilities. I want a fancy lobby, a half dozen restaurants, shops that sell a bunch of stuff I either don't want or can't afford, something that doesn't look like an apartment that I lived in 5years ago. I explained this all to Steve, who proceeded to treat me like an idiot. Just close the door to the laundry closet, just don't cook. I told him that he clearly didn't understand what a vacation was to me. Hubby was wisely letting me voice my opinion so we could get the hell out of Dodge. I explained, that if I had to cook, do laundry and drive 5 miles to Starbucks, then that was a typical day, not a vacation. Well, Mr. Steve's attitude changed. He wasn't very friendly anymore. In fact, he called in one of the big guns. A guy, wearing a turtleneck that had a better manicure than myself. He tried to wheel and deal with some fancy figures and assuring us we would qualify, no credit check necessary. In a nutshell, we told him to take his 17.9% loan and shove it in his stack washer and dryer.

Five minutes later, tickets in hand, we were on the shuttle back to the life of a vacationer. Lots of AC, restaurants, shops with $30,000 purses and a Mint Mocha Frappuccino with my name on it. Just how I like it!

Sephora

2008-08-22T20:17:00.004-05:00

I love, love Sephora! My first jaunt into the store, left me $200 in the hole. I bought some makeup, and had it applied. I asked for a vanilla scented fragrance and was shown a wall of perfume. The saleswoman narrowed it down to 4, one of which I got and have used faithfully since. It is a wonderful, light smell. I could huff and get a little vanilla high, it so yummy. Anyway, I was thrilled at the prospect of shopping once again in a store that has so many makeup brands that your head spins.

My favorite store is the one next door to the Venetian. The Venetian shops have expanded so much since the last time I was in Vegas, that we realized we were going to be late for our dinner reservation. Hmm. Well, there were other Sephora's so I guess I would have to suck it up and try the one across from our hotel, at Planet Hollywood's mall.

I wouldn't recommend deviating from a store that offers so much to a store that offers very little. The Miracle Mile's Sephora offered little, and I was sorely disappointed. First off, the store is small, as in way tiny. There was no block long wall of perfume, no well stocked cases of any makeup brand you can think of. For instance, I wanted some of the NARS Orgasm products, the Multiple, polish and gloss. What I found? Nothing but empty spots of the shelves and a sign that the polish would be available soon. Hmmm... I know it was available on their website. My husband, who would barely sit foot in the door, yelled at me from outside to ask someone. There was a long line at the register and not many someone's to ask. I finally found someone to ask. It was a nearly 6 foot tall blond, wearing the usual black shirt, black pants ensemble. She had a long ponytail, pulled neatly. I approached. She turned around. I was shocked. The 6 foot blond was a MAN?!? Well, maybe not 100% man but still manly enough. I didn't want to get his makeup opinions so I left. It wasn't really because of him that I left. I was angry that I didn't go to the store of my choice, angry they were out of everything that I wanted and angry that my husband was not standing by me, helping me pick out stuff that I really don't need. I was also hot and thirsty and bitchier than usual, so it was time to go. So, we did.

Hot!

2008-08-21T08:10:00.002-05:00

That is all I'm saying. Vegas is really, really HOT!

Back away from the pregnant woman

2008-08-20T07:53:00.003-05:00

We are officially in Sin City! Of course, we have the normal airport business to take care of, mainly, I have to pee. We get on the tram, surrounded by a million other crazy people, willing to brave the oppressive heat for a little fun. I am crammed into the tram, laying all my stuff on a man with an expensive watch, holding the largest cup Starbucks offers. I know all of this because it was right in my eye. If the tram would have lurched violently, I would have had my face washed by his iced coffee.

Our luggage appears and we are off to find a way to our hotel. We are staying at the Monte Carlo, home of Lance Burton. He is a magician but looks like a wax dummy, really, he wears more makeup than most women. We get out, get to our room and, darn it, it is so hot! I lower the AC to a much more desirable temp, at this point, a meat locker wouldn't have been cool enough for me. The room, while tastefully decorated and comfy, never felt cool to me. I couldn't sleep because I couldn't feel any air on my skin. Of course, I had 20 pillows in bed with me, besides Bobby, so I'm sure all of that was hampering my temperature issues.

This was also a handicap accessible room. We had a gigantic bathroom. Of note, is that apparently a handicapped person needs to have a bathtub that sits several feet off the floor. I had to use all of the rails because getting in and out was nearly impossible. Getting out of the shower, wet, of course, at a high altitude on a polished, tile floor, makes for an interesting time. If you have some kind of physical issue, I don't recommend going to Vegas anyway. Not to be mean, but it is too crowded. Just being pg, I was jostled by many in elevators and buses. No fun!

The village called, they want their idiots back

2008-08-19T17:17:00.005-05:00

We returned from Las Vegas yesterday. I have so many stories and so little time. I will get started with the plane trip. We left Wichita after lunch. People around us were milling about, chatting on the phone, chatting with each other, you know, what you would normally do while you wait. Then, there are the "others." I would consider them to be social misfits, guys from the farm, that perhaps like to indulge in fantasy of the farm animal kind. There were 4 of them, all wearing t-shirts that said the most asinine of things. For instance, one shirt read, "What happens in Clay Center, stays in Clay Center." Nice choice. Maybe it should have read, "Hey, I'm a dumbass that has never been out of Kansas." Or, "Kick me because I am gambling on heads or tails off a quarter before we get on the plane." Maybe that second one is too long, but, unfortunately, true. The guys all sat on the floor, there were chairs, so I'm not sure of the reasoning behind this. One pulled out a quarter and for the next hour or so, they played heads or tails, all while throwing big bills out. Couldn't wait the 3 hours til we got to Vegas. Ok, so we get on the plane. We sit next to 2 of them, the others, sit in front of us. Not one of them removes their odd, wavy shaped Oakley's. One guy drops quite a bit of cash on drinks, which are $6 a piece. Everything costs on an airplane now.

We are nearing Vegas and are starting to see landmarks, mainly Hoover Dam. I mention this to my sweet husband and immediately the guy's head snaps around and he begs me to point it out to him. Then, he demands to know if I know where the speedway is. Um, no, sorry, it isn't really my cup of tea. Instead, I tell him that Chanel is at the Bellagio and that I can't wait to go to Sephora. He gives me a blank stare. No, I really didn't say that, but I wanted to.

Finally, we land. They all announce how lucky they are that they only have carry on luggage, so they were off for more beer and some gambling. Thank God that was the last of them.

Blow my dice, or, whatever

2008-08-15T10:09:00.003-05:00

Darling husband and I are on our way to Vegas today. It is supposed to be 108 degrees! Did you hear me, 108 degrees?!? Of course, Kansas is supposed to be rainy and 20 degrees cooler than normal. Hmmm... Maybe I would like to stay home this weekend instead. No, this is the last chance that hubby and I will be able to get away, just the 2 of us. With a baby coming, it is unlikely we will hopping on a plane anytime soon. That is ok, there are trade-offs in life and I am willing to make them.

I am expecting to eat like a queen and walk a bunch more than I probably should. I love to eat and in Vegas, our choices are endless. We are eating at a seafood buffet tonight. They ship in 30,000 lbs. of crab legs for this buffet. How can that not be enjoyed? I fully expect hubby to take 15,000 lbs, leaving the rest for me!

Tomorrow, we are renting a car and touring the Hoover Dam. It is interesting, and even though there is no buffet for miles, I'm sure we will do fine. Of course, I will have to pee endlessly and become massively dehydrated, this, no doubt, making the tour much more entertaining!

We will be doing alot of walking up and down the strip. I always enjoy people watching, and Vegas is pretty much filled with freaks! And, I'm just talking about the normal tourists. One year, I was there, there was a pack of young, Asian teens milling about outside of Caesars Palace. What I found most interesting was that one of the girls was wearing a wool sweater and tights! Hello? It was 90+ degrees. I certainly not knocking anyone Asian, just wow, she must have been hot!

I am not a big gambler. I will put a couple of quarters in a slot machine but other than that, I will probably avoid the tables. My gambling husband has been reading a book about craps. I say, "Good luck and don't loose any money." He actually asked me if I wanted to be his good luck charm, wear something daringly low cut, and blow his dice. Blow his dice, seriously. I opted out saying that I would much rather go shopping while he blew his own dice. Sephora, here I come!

Sephora will be very exciting! I discovered my favorite perfume there. I love, love, love Sephora. I could easily spend all of our gambling winnings there. Oh, wait... There aren't likely to be winnings. Oh, well, I will spend our real money there. Unlikely.

So, the countdown begins. Hubby will be home in 1 hour and we will speed over to my parents so we can leave Miss Mia. I will miss her! Maybe I will get her a little Vegas surprise. Do kids like poker chips???

Not funny, for now

2008-08-07T18:27:00.004-05:00

I enjoy writing my blog. I use it as a release sometimes. I know that it isn't always funny. In fact, lately, it hasn't been. I'm sorry for this. Things happen. Maybe I will be funnier tomorrow.

If you like a funny blog, I highly recommend Jen Lancaster's, "Jennsylvania." She is a real hoot and has a bitch streak that I admire and would most certainly cultivate if I wasn't forced to be nice to so many people.

I do have a couple of habits, bad or good, that are similiar to Jen's. I love my Crocs, ugly or not. My entire family loves them. I figure that when my feet are swollen from being pregnant, I will turn to my Crocs, the Mammoth type specifically, to ease my uncomfortable feet. The Crocs people sent Jen a rather exciting bunch of shoes from their fancy line. I can't afford the new line, and while I would love something free, even a coupon, I doubt I am big on the Croc people's blog list!

I also love Chicago! Jen lives there in, what I would guess, is a stylish, loft type place. I am envious, to a point. Having kids there is something I can't imagine. When we were in Chicago, we walked everywhere or took the El. I can't fathom how I would get a toddler and infant onto bus without losing my mind. Walking isn't always great with little kids.

We enjoyed our trip to Chicago very much. We ate great food. Who doesn't like a steak from the Chicago Chop House??? I guess, vegetarians, but I can't imagine who else. My favorite stop was at the Coach store, where I got my Ali bag. I still keep the thank you note from the shopgirl we purchased it from. We also visited the aquarium and I found it to be top notch. I could sit and watch the beluga's all day. Hubby and I are hoping that we can go back and do some other fun things. But, with a baby on the way, we may be too old to walk around much without walkers.

Someday, my sense of humor will return. Until then, I will be celebrating my birthday this weekend, that should bring about some laughs. I'm 39, oh, what the hell, I'm really 29!

The Past-Revisited

2008-08-05T19:50:00.008-05:00

I lived a different life, much different than the one I live now, back in the 80's. First, I was young and a hottie! Well, I was young, anyway. When I think back, it seems like it was a secret life, a life few of my friends know about and a life that, while etched in my memory, I don't always like to recall.

I married an Air Force Academy cadet. I have to admit that it wasn't the best plan I could have come up with. I was young, too young. And, dumb. Yet,that didn't stop me from moving from wonderful Colorado, to steaming hot Texas. I remember my apartment, new and crawling with scorpions. One day, I came home and found a gray, furry tarantula on my front door. After I got in the door, there was a scorpion on my couch. Nice. That is nothing compared to what I was considered, an Air Force wife. Not just any Air Force wife, but one whose husband was in Undergraduate Pilot Training(UPT). There were a barrage of parties, mixers, get togethers and what have you, that I had to attend. There was no choice in the matter, none. I went where I was summoned. Granted, I wasn't summoned by the commander, just his wife, and in some cases, it was just as bad. The Air Force looks at the "wife" as the posession of the husband. Those that know me, know that isn't the way I operate, but back then, I did. If we were to go to the O Club, we went. If we were supposed to go to a dinner, we went. We edged our lawn, parked our cars, mingled with friends, had sex, all by the book of the Air Force. Failure to do so... It just didn't happen, at least with myself and former spouse.

UPT is a program that lasts 1 year. It is grueling for the pilots. It is grueling for their wives. There are the 4am flight weeks, the 8pm flight weeks. There was the chamber, egress training and memorizing countless things about flying and the plane. Failed check rides and failed marriages occured frequently, too frequently. While the husband's are dutifully flying around, the wives are left on the ground, to commiserate with their forced friends about how they miss their families, miss their friends, miss their jobs, all to fulfill their husband's dreams. It is admirable but stressful enough for miscarriages and falling apart marriages. In esscence, you gave up everything and UPT is now your life, as well. You remember little acronyms for things, you sew patches on new flightsuits, you are able to recognize and name the entire inventory of Air Force planes. You and your spouse are owned by the Air Force and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it.

But, there is light at the end of the tunnel! Graduation from UPT approaches and the Air Force has decided your husband is worthy of flying one of their multi-milion dollar planes. Maybe you will escape this hellhole called Del Rio, maybe not. We didn't, not for 4 years. I lived through 4 years of hot as hell conditions, very few places to get a decent meal and absolutely no shopping! And, tell me what did I do it for, a divorce. Apparently. My former spouse loved flying and was a great instructor, but his love for me couldn't/didn't have any priority for him. I, was in fact, his mistress, his first love, the Air Force and flying.

I don't regret those times, they have shaped me into the person that I am today, not that that is saying a bunch. I made friends that I think of today. Occasionally, I Google them, hoping to find that someone I knew, is having the life they dreamt of, something that they took away from that time in the 80's in Del Rio, Texas.

My last Google forway was today and what I found, hurt me. A guy that was an instructor pilot with us in Texas, was killed on 30 July at Nellis AFB, NV. He had been flying in an exercise and crashed, he died on site. He had been married to the same girl I met, way back in 1990. They had childen, they have a mom, but no dad. Reading the obituary, I saw that he was an accomplished pilot, with many missions, with many aircraft. Many, that at the time I knew him, he only dreamt about.

A Moment of Silence

2008-07-23T16:23:00.004-05:00

A girl that I have been in school with since the 7th grade, died recently. I read her obituary in the paper, where I grew up. I was shocked to see her picture. She was 39, just like I will be next month. It sounded like she was ill and died, no bad car accident, like another girl in my class had. They both left young sons.

I remember this girl for a couple of reasons. She loved gymnastics and she had big thighs. Maybe not the best things to be remembered for. I always thought of her as mean. Not to me, we weren't friends, but I got the feeling she could probably whip up on someone bigger than her and they might live to regret messing with her. Probably not another great memory that I have of her.

I feel upset and sad upon reading of her death. I don't really know why. I don't believe that I am going to die anytime soon. You know, at least I hope not. I guess the thought of losing classmates is really hard. I lost my then best friend when she was 25. I still think of her today.

I am asking you, that if you read this, say a small prayer or have just a moment of silence for people that have passed away that you went to school with. We keep our loved ones in our memories but sometimes we forget others that have slipped away.

Cockroaches of the Sea:How the Lawrence Men Will Do Anything for Dinner

2008-07-17T09:11:00.011-05:00

I believe it is my nephew, Aaron, that coined the phrase, "Cockroaches of the Sea," for those strange, yet tasty, things we call crab. With the Puget Sound literally in their backyard, my sister in law and brother in law, drop the crab pots and hope that no one steals their haul. It starts out easy enough, you load the crab pot with some type of bait that the crab will flock to eat, and then they are caught in the trap. In most cases, the crab really seem to go for turkey legs, raw. Very odd... You put the pots in the boat and set out to put them somewhere where you can see them bobbing and then you wait. A crab pot, for those of you that don't know, and I didn't til I went to Seattle, is not a pot at all. I assumed, incorrectly, that it was a cylindrical object possibly made of clay?!? In actuality, it is a metal, mesh looking cage with a hole for the crab to get in. I think that it has a nice little area for the bait, but I may well be wrong. Ok, so you are in the boat, you go out a little ways and throw them in and wait. A lot of people throw their pots out. A lot of people will pull up at your pot, dump the crab in their boat and then take off. This is not a good thing as witnessed on our last trip. Let's just say that someone was rowing nearby the pots and from way high up, apparently looked like they were trying to get our haul. There was yelling and mention of reporting boats to the proper authorities. I'm not really sure what authorities respond to a crab heist but my guess is they respond with guns drawn and the order to, "Drop those crab or I will shoot!" Anyway, one would think that dropping the pots one morning and checking them in a few hours, a couple of different times of day would be speedy and sufficient. Well, you haven't met the Lawrence's.

The mention of boats and crab makes the male Lawrence's salivate with the anticipation of a feast. At Thanksgiving last year, they donned several layers of winter gear, took the boat out of winter storage and dropped the pots, like it was a warm summer day. There were lots of wet clothes and cold men. We had crab, one of which I actually sacrificed for the sake of dining enjoyment. I might make mention of this later, but maybe not, as it is not for the faint of heart. Anyway, our summer trip started out much like our Thanksgiving trip. Since I have no boat knowledge, I am going to give my opinion of what happened, although the use of technical boating jargon will be avoided. My brother in law pulled the truck near the boat trailer. I guess you have to attach the boat to the hitch with a winch that requires cranking. The crank broke, leaving my husband and 18year old nephew having to manually put the boat on the hitch. I don't think that boats are light, but I may be wrong. Turns out the battery was dead so then the motor wouldn't start once they got the boat in the water. A new battery was attached and the boys were off to drop off the pots. It was a go for crab!

Ok, well, not exactly. At one point, the tide was coming in and there were whitecaps. Turns out that tying the boat to the bouy wasn't going to be that easy. Then, there was this little matter of getting everyone into the dinghy. That is a rowboat, come to find out. Four big guys in a little boat, is quite an interesting feat. I'm not sure they actually did this, though. Apparently, they decided swimming back to the shore in 48 degree water made more sense. Shrinkage be damned! Fearing for the fate of the "Lawrence's Deadliest Catch" crew, I don't truly know all of the gory details surrounding this last foray and I don't think that I want to know. They all returned safely, with very low body temperatures. After some showers, hot chocolate with a dash of Bailey's, they seemed somewhat recovered.

Soon, it was time to haul the catch up the 7000 stairs from the beach to the house. There aren't really 7000 stairs, but there are a bunch. The crab get lined up, whacked and thrown in the boiling water. They are screaming and flipping the crab bird at us through the entire process. I am making this part up, of course, they can't flip the bird. Ok, ok, no one call PETA on me. For the record, I didn't hear any screaming.

Actually eating the "cockroach of the sea" isn't an easy task. There are many tools involved. I saw nutcrackers, small little crab forks, and sometimes kitchen shears. My nephew, just uses his teeth! Removing all of the meat can be time consuming and messy. It is worth it, though. There is nothing better than dipping freshly caught crab in hot butter. A new Coach bag is pretty close, though. Anyway, at Thanksgiving, my nephew cracked me a fine pile of crab and I didn't even have to slip him $20. Thanks, Michael!

All in all the crabbing went well. There were the usual scrapes, attacks from rabid barnacles and a lost oar, but no one was seriously injured. No trip to Seattle would be complete without a crabbing adventure. Maybe with practice, they will get better, but what is an adventure without a little blood, sweat and tears?

Hair

2008-06-26T08:11:00.007-05:00

I have read that a Leo's claim to fame is her luxurious, fantastic, smooth, shiny hair. I am a Leo. I don't have claim any of those adjectives. I have fine, flat, brown, boring hair. Don't get me wrong, I get great haircuts, it is strictly my hair that is the issue. I have a video of where I was on TV back in the 90's, I have the same hairstyle that I have right now! It is sad. I am going to revisit some of my past haircuts and the stylists that recreated me. Lucky for you, I don't have pictures so you will just have to use your imagination to get the full impact.

When I was very young, I had long, beautiful hair. One day, dear, old dad took me to the salon where it was cut in one of those ultra-hip bowl cuts. It was pretty evil and jinxed me for the rest of my life.

I had a mullet. It was in the 8th grade and we called them bi-levels. I am not a lesbian, just someone that had misguided hair. I hid the pictures.

The 80's left me with several perms and some bad blonde, thanks to Sun In. Thanks to whomever for inventing that stuff. My 9th grade picture is me wearing a light yellow sweater to match my light yellow hair. I am making no mention of the skunk like look of my roots.

I don't remember the hair of the 90's. Probably because it looks too much like it does today.

When beloved husband and I got married in 2003, I made an appointment to have my hair professionally done. I spent roughly 2 hours sitting in the stylist's chair while she tempted fate with my hair. I didn't tell her that I could never do anything with it, I let her think she was doing a great job. After about 100 different curlers and a million bobby pins and a gallon of aerosol hairspray, I was ready to go get dressed for the ceremony. I had to cut my shirt off because I mindlessly forgot to wear a button up. I took out my curlers and shook out my beautiful, ringlety, wavy hair. I fluffed it and sprayed again. One little problem, my hair wasn't ringlety or wavy and it sure as hell wasn't beautiful! It looked pretty much like it always did, semi-wavy, dirty brown and really sticky with hairspray. Humpf. I have since learned my lesson, hair and Seattle don't really mix. Too much humidity makes my already fine hair limper and greasier than usual. No wonder they have a high suicide rate.

After having Mia, I got brave, or stupid, and had my shoulder length hair cut to a short, short bob ala Keira Knightley. It was cute. For about a minute. My own husband walked right past me when I went to show him. He had no idea it was me. It took about 100 years to grow out. Learned me.

Thinking back over the years that I have lived in Wichita, I have probably had haircuts with about 20 people! I usually find someone who's hair I like and ask them who they use. That landed me at Eric Fisher with a great guy named, well I can't remember, but he moved and I cried for days. He always told me that I was beautiful and spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to coax my hair into a manageble style. I still believe there is nothing like a gay man to cut your hair. I had another, a gay stylist, I mean, at Planet Hair. I think his name was Ben. He moved too. Dang it. Ben and the Eric Fisher guy were the greatest. Among the worst, a guy at a close salon to my house in Riverside. He had dyed blonde hair. I could overlook that but what got me was the dripping blood from his fingertips as he razored my hair! You don't razor fine hair, come to find out. After the cut, he colored it some magenta, reddish, scary color. I was in shock, to say the least. He was later murdered. It was a very sad story that didn't surround poor haircuts.

There have been female stylists in my haircutting life. One of the firsts, was June, at Charisma. This was prior to the $7 quatrillion building they built on 21st. June was nice but there were always a few strands that came from nowhere that had to be recut. I did like her though. Then, there was Nellie, also at Charisma. She moved. I only saw her like twice, so I don't think that I scared her off. Maybe I am wrong about that. Recently, I used the guy that cuts the rest of my families hair. He is very reasonable and I appreciate that. He speaks little understandable English. I always get a good cut but the language barrier is a bit of a turnoff. I don't always know if we are on the same wavelength or not. For awhile, I went to my neighbor. She would give me a free haircut if I would watch her kitty while they were on vacation. Hell, yes! I can watch a cat for 2 weeks to get a $40 haircut.

My latest hair venture has been with a fellow mommy board member. I won't name her because I didn't ask her first and I think she probably thinks that I have boring hair, which I do, it is safer. I got a good cut and I still look like myself, meaning I really didn't do much to alter my appearance. I really like my new stylist. Of course, she has great hair, is pretty and as much as you want to hold that against her, you just can't because she is down to earth and really nice. She will probably move.

Incredible!

2008-06-16T10:14:00.003-05:00

Everyday that I look at Mia, I am reminded of how impressive and awe inspiring that pregnancy and childbirth are. I still marvel that I was able to keep Mia alive when she was a baby. Not that I am a horrible person, I was just totally unaware of the kinds of feelings and responsibilities that you just "do." It all becomes second nature and it is totally worth every sleepless night, every yucky diaper, every little bit of baby barf.

With that in mind, a mom I know, just gave birth to twins. You might not think this is a big deal but she had them at home, surrounded by her birth crew and family. By birth crew, I mean doula etc. She put together an amazing and powerful slide show, chronicling her labor and the subsequent birth of these 2 amazing little people. It is a very powerful testament to the love that a mother has for her children. You can see the pain of her labor and the fruit of her delivery. It is a wonderful thing to see. Pass the Kleenex.

http://www.dfwbirthphotographer.com/Chantel.html

Asshat-Or, Loosen Up Your Velcro Shoes Because Your Brain Needs Oxygen

2008-06-10T07:38:00.006-05:00

Before I plunge into this exciting post, I must, at the very least, offer one of my favorite authors, Jen Lancaster, credit for the word, "asshat." No, I know she didn't make it up and there is no trademark etc, but she uses it pretty freely in her last book, so I am giving credit where credit is due. I know she won't be reading this, damn it, but one can always dream. Just an FYI, her last books is great.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I received a particularly startling and rather disturbing email last night. It was sent via Ancestry.com. I have semi-legitmately used this site to search for family members and family history. A little background, my maiden name was, Scuka, pronounced Sue Ka. Obviously, not too easy. In school, whenever I entered a new grade or class, I would cringe waiting for the butchering of my last name. Eventually, I would just bark it out, probably rudely, but since I have heard all kinds of weird pronounciations, I figured I would clear it up right away. I have found some Scuka's on this website, but I am not so immersed that it clouds my mind.

This is the email I received. "My father was Clayton Leon Scuka. We may be related. Do you need further information? Give me a call if I can help." Sounds pretty secretive, doesn't it? Almost like he has discovered some family treasure or something. I was startled and then began to convulse with laughter! Yes, I know Clayton Scuka, pretty well, actually. He was my grandfather. He used to take me out on his bass boat, let me drink his beer, which I have previously mentioned, as well as letting me have cream soda, a little less lethal than all the beer I drank.

So, who did this email come from? My uncle. Mind you, he lives in Augusta, just a stone's throw from Wichita, yet obviously many moons from here. One wonders how the gene pool has not arranged for a quicker elimination?!?!

At 60 something years of age, he still wears velcro closure tennis shoes, or maybe I should call them tennies for his sake. He is just plain odd. I don't know how he was growing up, and am afraid to even ask. I know how he is now and that is pretty scary. I used to work with him at the prison in El Dorado. When I was interviewed, I had to tell them that I had a relative that worked there. I didn't want to tell them, but they asked. Once the cat was out of the bag, the interviewers just stared at me like I was an idiot. Then, they laughed it off and stated that they were sure I would be fine. Uh-oh.

So, how did I respond to this peculiar email? Well, it was a toss up as to whether I would be a smart ass, which I thought could be really interesting, or be nice, and just say, yes, we are related. What I ultimately settled on was, "Yes, you are correct, we are related. You are my uncle." I'm still not sure as to if he knows it is me. He probably isn't sure either. What an asshat.

Here and Everywhere

2008-06-06T09:57:00.003-05:00

I blog mainly for my own enjoyment. If I can't be bitchy, sarcastic and rude to myself, then who can I be bitchy, sarcastic and rude to? Seriously, the offers from magazines have fallen by the wayside, so I am just a run of the mill mom, woman, grouch, yada yada. I don't think that I will ever fit into the blog hall of fame, but I doubt there really is one in existence. I read a lot of blogs, and I mean A LOT of blogs. Some famous, some not. I kind of fit in the "not" category, but that is cool because I have people from all kinds of places, including some that I have to Google to figure out where they are, read my blog, or at least an entry or two. I am wondering how these readers find me and why they are reading. Sometimes I can be pithy etc. etc. but what in the world are these people Googling to end up on my blog? Whatever it is, thanks and welcome! And a big shout out to Ennice, NC!

A Pickin' and a Pluckin'

2008-05-19T19:16:00.006-05:00

Every night, before my nightly shower, I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. I am merely observing the mess of eyebrows and dirty pores that magically appear every day. Really, how fast do eyebrows grow, for God's sake? I have been plucking since forever ago. If I didn't, instead of Christie, well mannered, young woman, with 2 kids, you would be looking at Bert, well mannered Sesame Street character, with an affinity for pigeons. I really have no skill in plucking, it is an art form that I have never mastered. Once, a long time ago, I had my brows waxed. I went to my salon and the sadist appeared, ready to slap the hottest wax she could find in my eye area, before yanking off the offending brows with one swoop. I found the hardest part to be the anticipation of the impending pain. I actually hated the wax more than the yanking. It is HOT! She might as well have dunked my face in a chicken fryer. Ok, so they looked nice, but I was never sure it was worth $21. Anyway, shortly thereafter, I went back to the plucking route. See, if you want a good eyebrow wax, you have to let them grow for awhile so there is something to remove. In reality, that probably wouldn't take me too long. But, and this is important, do you really want people to see your mangy eyebrows while you are waiting for them to grow out? I know, I don't. I am not resorting to the Bert look, unibrows are not my cup of tea. Neither is the white brow I plucked this evening.

As I move on, I stare at my chin and nose. For some reason, I was blessed with big pores that fill with muck faster than a I can keep up with. It really is disgusting and I have yet to find anything that keeps them clear. So, I empty them of their vile gunk. I know you aren't supposed to pick but I just squeeze them a little bit. I don't have scarring so I think I am doing ok. Sometimes, I use a battery operated brush/scrubber deal. You wash your face, smear this gritty cream all over your face, then flip the switch and magically a layer of your skin is removed. You are left with a nice, pink face. Very smooth, too. It cleans the pores but in a couple of days, the scum returns. Short of going to a dermatologist, I am left with a T-zone that looks like Love Canal. Oh, well... What is that saying, you can pick your pores, you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your friends pores?

TV Time

2008-05-05T09:50:00.008-05:00

I am not a big fan of TV. I hate getting sucked in to shows, like Lost, where I am waiting 4 odd years to find out who the heck the "others" are, or why fate dealt those unlucky passengers a most unpleasant hand. As far as being sucked in, for the past 3 years, we have watched American Idol. I was sucked in and, while I enjoy watching, I am sad that I have basically given up an hour of my life on Tuesday night to watch a bunch of amateurs try to become stars.

I remember watching alot of TV when I was younger. Tuesday was such a great night! Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley were treats that rivaled ice cream. Then, there was Saturday night. Who can forget the Love Boat and Fantasy Island? I used to pretend that I was on a cruise ship and my bedroom was a luxurious stateroom. Years later, I saw Titanic and realized I would never set foot on a boat, sharply dressed shipboard doc or not. After seeing reruns, I realized how many people came back on board as different characters. Did Aaron Spelling truly believe we wouldn't notice?On another note, I just finished reading Tori Spelling's book and it was a hoot. Good National Enquirer type reading.

Fantasy Island was a nightmare waiting to happen. There was also that same cast of characters that seemed to magically appear as new people, with new drama attached. Carol Linley and Dennis Cole seemed to make many, many, many appearances. Cole actually has his own website, though it doesn't mention FI at all. Wonder why? Maybe he felt Tattoo violated him in some way and refuses to acknowledge his episodes. Speaking of Tattoo, you know I have this interest in little people. Well, Tattoo, or Herve, was a kinky little guy. I read once that he covered himself with chocolate pudding and wanted his full size girlfriend to lick it off. I'm not sure exactly which part of that makes me gag but it does, for sure. Mr. Roark was really scary. I guess it was the voice but after you hear him do the Volare, Cordoba, or whatever, car commercial, it kind of loses the effect they were hoping for. The supernatural weirdness would get to me and I would often have nightmares. I'm sure my mom wouldn't have let me watch, knowing the after effects. Of course, she let me watch Love Boat and that was full of strangers having sex after dinner at the Captain's Table. Maybe that is where I got my upstanding set of morals.

I also liked, and still like, Scooby Doo, the old ones, not the ones with that idiot, Scrappy. The show hit an all time low when they added him. Of course, now I watch cartoons with Mia. She really enjoys Max&Ruby, which I can tolerate, and Caillou, which I can't. Max&Ruby has a brother and sister bunny and they are cute but don't really have a message. Maybe they do, but I have missed it. Caillou just pushes my buttons. He is a whiny, little pain in the ass. He is scared of the dark, of monsters, of dogs, you name it and the little guy is scared out of his wits. I hear that the voice of Caillou is actually a girl and that she was recently killed in a car crash. Very sad. I hope they don't get a replacement.

Bobby and Max watch TV like there is nothing else in the wide world to do. Bobby will watch FOX til we have heard the same report about Reverend Jeremiah Wright seventeen times. I like Sean Hannity but I think for Bobby it goes deeper. More like Lori Dhue, Megyn Kelly and the other women, that like to broadcast their assets, rather than the news. Is a miniskirt that barely covers your butt good for ratings or is it just a distraction for Geraldo? I will say that he will watch Bill O'Reilly and there is absolutely nothing sexy about him. Please excuse me for being a ninny hammer and popinjay. You look it up, I had to.

Don't know who else will recall, Dance Fever, Facts of Life, Dance Party USA, Peppermint Place, Knot's Landing and a million other shows that I remember from my childhood. I enjoyed watching them all but now don't feel the need to be chained to the televsion, flat screen, HD or not. So many books, so little time.

Camel Toe and Big Ass or People Who Should Be Bitch Slapped

2008-04-29T16:36:00.006-05:00

Waiting for Max in the school parking lot is always fodder for a good blog entry and/or stand up comedy routine. Since getting up on stage at the Loony Bin is not an option, I figured I would just share a little bit of what I saw today. Everyone shall remain nameless, lest their hideous judgement be revealed and you see what idiots some people really are, myself not included.

Some people just don't get how pants should fit, specifically, jeans. Ideally, they should be comfortable, fit nicely and not be over $100. While jeans can be any color, I am a traditionalist and prefer blue. This is not to say that other colors can't be worn without me calling you an ass. That being said, fit really becomes important. Today, I was blinded by a pair of tight, white bow-chica-bow-bow jeans that nearly made me lose my cookies. They literally gave camel toe a new meaning. It was sick, yet I couldn't stop looking. A Levi's train wreck. This nice lady, a phrase I use very loosely, likes to wear her pants like this. ALL of her pants. These pants combined with her neon white hair, make for a shocking view. I actually know this person, believe it or not, and have never made a comment regarding her outward persona. That is not to say that I don't have a bunch to say when she is not around. I am a nice person like that. So, here is a Blondie wannabe, parking where she isn't supposed to, carrying a little dog, ala Jessica Simpson, and giving the term, "Read my lips," a whole new meaning. Cue the porn music.

Yet, another woman with a pants problem, surfaced today. This really is a nice lady but the butt is a big one that stretch pants can't conceal. She also has some hair issues, mainly that headbands and crazy, curly hair don't exactly work well together. It appeared that a small, black poodle was perched on her head, hanging on for dear life. I can cut her some slack on the hair, because I am in my 45th day of ponytail and don't see signs of a style change. The pants bothered me for a couple of reasons. Like I mentioned, stretch pants aren't always the best choice for a big ass. At the very least, one should wear a longer shirt to cover the butt. Maybe that is just my opinion, I don't know. So, not only was the shirt too short, but the panty choice left lots to be desired. If you can see the panty, especially under the white stretch pants, maybe a change in color is necessary, at the very least.

I saw another lady, one I didn't know, yesterday. She had odd colored orange/gold hair and really BIG 70's type glasses. I don't know what her clothes looked like because she was wearing a huge, coral colored pashmina. When I think of pashmina's, I think of Paris Hilton or someone that consideres themselves a jet setter. Maybe I'm wrong. I didn't get into the pashmina craze, I would rather wear a jacket, then wrap something around me like a straight jacket. Anyway, she was rocking her pashmina look, I guess. I looked at her feet and guess what kind of shoes she had on? Crocs! Wow, now that was a look. I love my Mammouth's, but really?

There is an interesting blend of students at school also. Can you imagine a 13-year old boy carrying a metal lunchbox? This particular model is red plaid, like I had in the 6th grade. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, this is the same kid that was beating up on a little kid the other day. Literally, swinging the kid's backpack around and hitting him til he fell. Finally, someone intervened. Had it been me, I would have whacked him with that cool, metal lunchbox. This is the same kid, mind you, that gets up during the Sunday service with his cellphone in hand, like he is some kind of big shot. I guess I shouldn't be shocked, his dad struts around like he is 10 feet tall. In reality, he is more like 3 feet tall.

I don't get why men have to pretend to be something they aren't. There is a dad that I have met on occasion, and he has serious body issues. First off, he is another shorty. Muscular, but in one of those ways you see guys at the Y, trying to puff up like a turkey. It makes me laugh. While he has an admirable profession, he is not God and should quit pretending like he is. Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint, no supermodel, not even a supermom, but get over yourself because you look like a fool. Napolean complex be damned.

Line 'em up for a bitch slap.

Off Like a Prom Dress

2008-04-23T06:59:00.014-05:00

I was in the mall the other night picking up my wedding ring, yet again, when I saw a bunch of high school kids dressed in their prom clothes walking around the mall. I commented to the girl in the jewelry store about how weird I thought this was. According to her, this is the norm and the guys will actually buy the girl a little trinket somewhere along their parade. Must be in exchange for what they think they will get a little later. Anyway, I liked seeing the girls all decked out in fancy dresses with flowers. The guys looked like crap! Few were wearing tuxes. In my day, when you had to walk 10 miles in a snowstorm for your prom dress, the guys rented tuxes and wore shoes that didn't have a swoosh on them. My, how times have changed.

The first girl I saw, was plus sized. Nothing against anyone plus sized, at least she got asked. I don't remember anyone plus sized going to my prom. At that point, even I was thin. Anyway, she was wearing a color I would call electric grape. It was blinding. It was a cute dress with criss cross sequined straps. The problem? The straps were cutting into her skin! Not the prettiest or most comfortable sight.

I remember all of my prom dresses, of course. There is a cool 80's picture of me at my 9th grade prom somewhere in the blog's archives. Don't miss it! So, I had a boyfriend that was a senior so I got to go when I was a sophomore. I remember my mom took me to Harlow, primarily a Jessica McClintock/Gunne Sax store. I tried on a bunch of stuff that I wasn't happy about. My mom spotted this pink brocade dress hanging so high, I could barely see it. It was $140. This was in 1985. That is like $500 or so now. Maybe not. I tried it on and that was that. I owned the dress. It was strapless with a low, lace insert that showed off my cleavage. It had a lacy underskirt deal that hung below the brocade. I can't describe it well and I will spare you the photos. I had to wear pantyhose, which, even to this day, I abhor. I will tear them off the second I am done with the event I am forced to wear them at. My prom night was no exception. I tore them off and hurled them out of a hotel window. Nice. I never said I was a well mannered person and if you know me, you know that is the truth. I was the only one wearing this dress to the prom as the store kept a list so we wouldn't all show up looking the same. My date liked the dress and I became a statistic for the high school prom records.

My junior prom was another story entirely. I found a dress, likely in my fave mag, Seventeen. It was strapless, white with a tulle skirt and a pink sash, from Harlow, again. Gorgeous! I had a boyfriend, he didn't want to go and lay out any money. He was a jerk. I will call him, Trevor, as that was his name and he sucked! I finally managed to convince him to get off his butt and ask me. He did with the condition we eat dinner at his house. Well, ok, I guess. I looked darn good with my nice dress, pantyhose, and big hair. He picked me up, we went for pictures with his friends at everyone's house. I stood on one guy's deck, and got the heel of my shoe caught between the slats. Nice. We then proceeded to dinner at his house. His family had a rather large Irish Setter. I told them to keep the dang dog away from my dress but he had a sister that didn't like me so, the dog got all over me! Red hair on my white dress didn't make me happy nor did the fact that I was not eating in a real restaurant like the rest of my friends. We get to the prom and it was fun. We danced alot, which I didn't do at the first prom I went to. We even switched off dancing with our friends, that is, until, my friend's boyfriend sported raging prom wood, while dancing with me! Nice. Needless to say, my date/jerk boyfriend didn't make into the prom statistic book. Something about shoes, if I recall correctly. I did manage to stash my pantyhose in his mom's glove compartment.

Ah, the senior prom! I had a tight, black, strapless deal that rocked! I had no date. Kind of a problem. No one even asked me! I had clearly fallen out of favor with the average high school idiot because I had dated a couple, just a couple, of cadets from the local wannabe pilot factory. A friend decided I should ask a cadet friend of ours, that he liked me and would love to go. Sure, he would! He was kind of a geek so I'm sure he would be thrilled to go with a hottie like me. Did I say that out loud? Well... Anyway, so I ask the guy and he says sure. One of the many problems is that he is only a sophmore at the Academy and can't have a car yet. He has a geeky older brother that is a senior, a math/aeronautical engineering major, that has a car. Did I mention that he was a double major? Thank God, I didn't have to go with him! Incredibly intelligent, incredibly dorky. Anyway, so my mom goes to get him while I get ready. He doesn't get me a corsage. My mom goes to the grocery store and gets one while I am silently seething. He forgets his shoulder boards for his mess dress. We have to go back and get them. I am sitting in the parking lot of a dorm with roughly 4000 somewhat eligible guys within shouting distance. I am tempted to go wandering through the dorm with my sexy, black dress and see if someone will take me that isn't a complete moron. I don't and I regret it to this day. Did I mention that I had a boyfriend that was a cadet and was studying for finals? Yeah, well, he was an ass too. I was an ass for thinking he was a nice guy. Shoulder boards retrieved, we left for a nice restaurant to meet a friend of mine and her date. They were just friends but he harbored an inner desire to date her. He was cute, nice and a great soccer player, I don't think she knew what she was missing. Oh, and she was dating a cadet also. Grrr... Jack, as in jack ass, as I will call him, only wanted an appetizer for dinner. That was probably a good thing because Jack left his wallet in his dorm room. You can tell why I call him Jack. I pay and we leave. The prom wasn't too exciting, I don't even recall dancing. My friend and I drove Jack home. He actually had the nerve to tell me he had a good time and was going to kiss me. I opened the car door and told him to get out and never saw him again. I wanted to wrap my pantyhose around his neck but I decided to let him live.

I wonder what prom will be like for my daughter. I will help her find a dress that covers 99.9% of her youthful skin. I will have a corsage stored in the fridge, in case her date forgets. I will give her extra money to stash in her purse, so she isn't forced to wash dishes in her prom dress. I will make certain that she understands that it is ok to ditch your pantyhose. I will also make sure to remind her date to be a gentleman, lest I wrap my own pantyhose around his neck.

Cut and Color

2008-04-22T17:22:00.010-05:00

Last night, Max was working on a school project that required poster board, colored pencils and a glue stick. Mia was enthralled with all of the goodies required. She was adamant that she sit by him and do her own "projek." I figured that it was time we start really doing some kind of project, whether art, coloring, letters etc.

This morning we traipsed to Dillons, where we got stickers, construction paper and markers, washable, of course. After our big purchase, we stopped at Starbucks, for a little creative energy. I'm not the least bit creative, so it will take everything I have to do any kind of art project.

I needed to find a website that had printable pages for coloring and some with letters. I found a few good sites, thanks to mommies I know, and printed off some pretty good stuff. Mia was desparate for a boat for her papa and a princess for her nana. We now have a working printer, thanks to my hubby, who will need it for a class he is going to teach. I printed off the necessary letter, boats and princesses that were requested and we were on our way.

Much to Mia's chagrin, I cut out and glued the sailboat onto the construction paper. I have heard way too many horror stories about little girls and scissors, and Mia has long hair, so better safe than sorry. As for the glue, I just finished cleaning crayon off my husband's mom's Steinway. Enough said. I wasn't even going to give her the chance to glue the cat to the table.

All in all, the "projecks" went very well. She was thrilled to color with the new pens and stick tons of ladybug stickers on her work. Her nana and papa loved their new creations and I was thrilled that Oxy Clean was invented and removes all kinds of stains. I can't forget those Magic Erasers. Bless you, Mr.Clean.

Keep the door closed

2008-04-20T07:53:00.005-05:00

My parents have an elderly neighbor man that sends out a mass email every morning. This guy is old, like 90 something and uses a computer. I find that amazing. My parents still have trouble using theirs and they have had it for more than a few years now. What is even more amazing about their neighbor is that he has found it necessary to email his daily bathroom habits.

My mom finds it disturbing, yet forwards me the more interesting emails. For instance, the other day, Edgar, I will call him, let everyone know that he had an enema. Nice. Before that, emails went out detailing his prostate troubles and his new purchase of Depends. Do you really think that we all need to know this kind of private info? I would say, no.

My grandmother did the same thing. When I was young, we lived in Dallas and my grandparents lived here in Wichita. We visited at least once a year and got lots of letters. This was before computers so they were actually written on paper! Anyway, my grandma would write about her bathroom habits. WHY?

When I would visit my grandparents solo, my grandma apparently found it necessary to slip me a nice glass of Metamucil each morning. YUM! Keep in mind, she put half and half in my cereal and let me drink as much 7Up as a small child could drink. Once I threw up from drinking too much 7Up and eating a strawberry frosted doughnut. Ah, the memories.

Flash forward to one of her many stays at Riverside hospital. Just entering that hospital was enough to make me want to vomit. There was always the pervasive smell of death, old people and puke that clung to my clothes and skin, even after I had left. An intern came in to her room to ask her routine questions. She questioned my grandma about whether she was ever constipated. My grandma looked at her and said, "I was born constipated." I don't know how you get more honest than that. The intern also asked whether she wanted a pelvic or not. Hello, she was like 80, cut her a break.

Being that I just got Mia mostly potty trained, I have heard my fair share of, "Mommy, poopy" and "Mommy, peepee." I am ready to not have to see or hear about bathroom habits from an adult or child. What happens in the bathroom, stays in the bathroom.

2008-04-14T08:59:00.007-05:00

I guess there is a reason for everything, though I hate to believe it is true. I am not, apparently, able to have another child. No, we didn't try for a year. No, I didn't take my temperature faithfully everyday. No, I didn't consult a fertility doc. I guess that I thought that going off the Pill and having sex like it was a chore, would make everything happen on its own, like when we conceived Mia. I guess I was wrong. Now, I am left with the task of weeding out the basement of her crib, baby toys, strollers and carseats for a garage sale, so that someone that has been blessed with a future baby can get a good deal. It makes me sad and sick at the same time.

I don't really know if I would have been a good mother to a second baby. Maybe I am not a good mom right now. The one thing I do know, is that it kills me that I will never hold a newborn that is my own. I know there are others out there that won't either. I am not trying to feel sorry for myself, just put things into perspective. Actually, I am feeling sorry for myself, very sorry, and I think that it is going to take more time for me to recover than I expected.

I am seeing that Ashley Simpson, Jamie Spears, Angelina Jolie and a bunch of others are pregnant. Must be nice. I only really hate Angelina though! Who doesn't? I'm not even talking about her being pregnant, ha, ha.

As I was sifting through the big bunch of crap in the mail today, something fell into my lap. It was a Babies R Us catalog. On it is a visibly pregnant woman, holding tiny, baby booties. Why was this the only piece of mail that fell? Why do I have to be reminded that there isn't a chance for me to need new baby items? What is it going to take for me to have some peace about this? I know the answer is time, but time is making it even more painful, because I am out of time.

Fear, Faith and a Felt Board

2008-04-08T07:48:00.010-05:00

When I was a young girl, probably around 4 or 5, my mom took me to church. I remember it was called Rosemont Christian Church and my mom gave me a pen and a bunch of paper to occupy my time during the service. I was thrilled, as I was too young to enjoy/understand the sermon, count the crazy hats, or watch the old men fall asleep. Plus, it wasn't Sunday school. I HATED Sunday school.

First off, I was a big wimp and hated to be left alone anywhere without my mommy or daddy. It scared me. I was dropped off in a classroom and forced to play with a bunch of kids I didn't know or even want to know. I was probably very scared of them, as I was, and am, an unsocial type of girl. So, here I was, all alone in the kids class, making sand art and crosses with packing peanuts and glitter on them. Pretty exciting stuff. It also seems like every week, we had a Bible story that utilized a felt board. For those of you that don't remember, a felt board was a black and somewhat fuzzy board, that only things made of felt could adhere to. For instance, I remember a crudely cut Noah's Ark and various animals cut out in all colors. The teacher tells the story and throws the cutouts on the board and they miraculously stick. They were so technically advanced and amazing, that I'm pretty sure they are no longer in existence.

It doesn't seem like I went to class very frequently, as I can't recall the teacher's name or any of the kids I was with. But, one thing stands out in my mind as utterly horrifying and I'm not sure why. The powers that be in Sunday school, decided that I was in the wrong class, due to my age. I was, like 5, so does it really matter that I should have been with the 4, 5 or 6 year olds? So, I was trundled off with my doll, and put into another class. I hated it. It was ridiculous and I demanded to be put back into the class with the felt board. I figured if I cried enough, they would give in and let me go back. My unruliness worked and I was basically thrown back into the younger class and allowed to play with the big blocks and glitter peanuts. Why torture everyone with my lack of interest?

Faith is important, I realize, as is spirituality. This probably should be taught to young kids to get them in the spiritual mentality at an early age. I work in the church nursery once a month, with a bunch of 2-3 year olds. It is horrific. Chaos is the name of the game, with kids jumping on me, opening alarmed emergency exits and declining to participate in the mandated craft. I am given a tray of everything that is required to run my little group of spiritual newbies, snacks included. I have to read a detailed list, including scripted prayers and stories before class starts. It is so in depth that I have to usually read it twice and once again while I try to lead this rag tag bunch of angels. Rarely are they interested in what I have to offer, usually a brief recap of a Biblical story, that I myself, didn't know before class started. I stumble through, praying for the patience not to strangle the kids with the crepe paper palm leaves, I have just spent 10 minutes gluing, while they shout, "Hosanna," in my face. The kids run around, touching me with their gluey fingers while I struggle to maintain some kind of authority. I pass out the pretzel/animal cracker snacks. Some kid throws his pretzels at me, another crawls on the table, trying to grab a cracker from a little girl who is telling me she has to potty. Angels in training, for sure. When my shift is done, the other mom/helper proclaims that this was a rough night and if she was a drinking mom... Thankfully, I was heading for the bar and would have one for her.

People worship differently. I like the calm approach, with limited body movements, good music and a nice message. The minister at my church has a fresh, upbeat way to deliver his sermons. It can be very interactive, with videos and theatrical interpretations. All very nice. Sometimes, though... There are times when I can't concentrate, I begin to watch the teenage girl, walking to wherever, wearing a tube top and miniskirt. I look at all of the new babies, check my watch. I get antsy. I don't know if God understands. I hope so. In the meantime, maybe my minister should invest in a felt board.

B&N or the Big Nothing

2008-04-07T07:40:00.007-05:00

On April 2nd, the latest and greatest Barnes and Noble opened. We have been waiting for this since they demolished one of my favorite restaurants, Macaroni Grill. They had the best Chicken Marsala and gnocchi. I haven't found a suitable replacement yet. I read that this store design was supposed to be new, with an elevated Starbucks, ample seating and who knows what else. I watched patiently as they built the frame, stuccoed the outside, landscaped the corner. It took too long, in my own opinion. If builders can throw up a cookie cutter house in a couple of weeks, why can't these people build a bookstore in a couple of months?

I was thrilled to see a sign announcing the impending opening. What does the store have that the other stores didn't? I would have to wait another day to find out.

I prepped Mia by telling her that we would get a java chip Frappucino from Starbucks and look at books for her. She seemed ok with this, so I figured we were good to go. The store was due to open at 9am. We dropped Max off at school and took a little drive to kill time. I wanted to be in the parking lot by 845, because we were going to be the absolute FIRST people in the new store.

We entered the parking lot and were the only people waiting. I could feel myself becoming excited, not that excited, but still. The prospect of being first can really mess a person up. Anyway, Mia was getting progressively agitated at being stuck in her carseat. There were a couple of other cars now parked near us. Keep in mind, I wanted to be first! It was pretty chilly that morning and I really didn't want to be out in the wind. Then, I saw them! Two well dressed women, approaching the door! Damn it, they were not going to be first! I threw open my door, raced to the other side to grab Mia from her carseat and ran to the front door like my pants were on fire. I know, I am crazy. The two ladies were apparently bigwigs for Barnes and Noble, and were trying to get in to check on things. When they saw us, they invited us is to stand in the vestibule. We were one step closer to breaching the massive door that separated us and the giant bookseller.

At 9am on the dot, the manager opened the door, welcoming us to the new store. I will hand it to them, it was spacious, well lit and chock full of books, tons that I want to read but will probably never get around to. There were a few things suspiciously missing, however. There was not a balloon in sight. No banners or fanfare announcing that this was, in fact, a new store, a grand opening. No one handing out stickers, pens, free Starbucks coffee or coupons for a discounted book. It was a darn sad thing. No one even mentioned anything about it. I must say that I was totally disappointed! What store doesn't do something exciting for their grand opening? I certainly didn't expect clowns, we wouldn't have gone in if they would have had them, but please, do something to celebrate what I consider to be rather exciting.

We went right to the Starbucks to order our Frappucino. I was going to use my giftcard but was told that I couldn't use it because this was Barnes and Noble. Yeah, so what? I paid for our drinks and we sat in the elevated cafe and soaked in the lack of fanfare.

In the end, I wrestled Mia from the Thomas the Tank Engine train table, with the promise of a couple of new Arthur books. She took the bait and we were out of there. Just another boring day in Wichita.

Little People, Big World

2008-04-03T08:51:00.009-05:00

Forever, it seems, I have had an interest in "little people." I'm not sure why. I have never known any little people, only seen them in the mall, on TV and in the Seattle airport. My first experience in learning more came from none other than Maury Povich. Apparently, there was a shortage of women needing to confirm who their babies daddies were so Maury invited some primordial dwarfs on the show. The first kids he featured were like 14 and 16 and were so tiny. I think their names were Bre and Brad but it has been awhile, so I can't be for sure. They were both sweet kids with high pitched, baby voices. Bre and Brad didn't seem bitter about their short stature and were a breath of fresh air! They were both cheerleaders and lived the life that seemed to be reserved for people of a greater height. I loved them.

We were returning from our wedding/Christmas vacation and right there in the food court of the Seattle airport was a family of little people. They had pulled up a low table to eat their lunch on. I stared like an idiot. Bobby caught me and, knowing of my interest, told me to eat because we had to get on the plane. I snuck them a little wave. They waved back, I'm sure, confirming to them, that I was truly an idiot.

Like they are reading my mind, TLC creates a show, about little people and how they get along in a big person's world, hence, the name, "Little People, Big World." I feel ripped off because it was an idea in the back of my brain for years and I have to let them reap the benefit. The show centers around Matt, Amy and their 4 kids, one who is little. His name is Zach and he loves soccer. I don't even recall the names of the other kids. Zach's brother has an annoying set of curls on his head and he is tall. I don't claim to know more because they just aren't very interesting.

The show centers on how they get along, from running a farm, which, if you want to get down to it, a regular sized person runs, drives a car, organizes a household full of people and how they travel. There house and cars are fitted to their size, ie low cabinets and appliances etc. The house is pretty nice, actually. Whomever redesigned and paid for the remodel did a fine job. The family travels to locations I can only dream about. Like the time they went to Hawaii and rode the zip lines. Like the time they went to the Caribbean and sailed on a gigantic sailboat. Like the place they get to go to next. They are a very privileged family, note sarcastic undertone.

They are also probably the messiest, most disorganized family I have ever seen. Professional organizers came to revamp some of their crap. It didn't help. Their "stuff" is literally everywhere. I'm not talking about a few dirty dishes in the sink or laundry on the floor in the bedrooms. I am talking, shit everywhere, on all surfaces. Clothes, dishes, backpacks, books, you name it. There is literally not a clear place to put anything! How can they live like this?

I still haven't figured out how they manage anything but that is ok. Some people, short or tall, fat or thin, can't make things work no matter who foots the bill for things. Of course, if someone offered me a fancy trip, new grill and, or a bunch of other cool stuff, I might clean up my crap once in awhile.I don't hold it against them, this complete lack of tidiness. After all, I am regular sized and not too tidy myself.

My interest in little people will probably last forever. I know it is a little unusual. Someone once told me there is little people porn. I think that I will definitely pass on that! For now, I hope for the best for little Bre and Brad and hope they never give up their sweet attitudes and remain happy. As for Matt, Amy and the bunch, please have someone pay to get you a housekeeper.

The Case of the Ball Doot Seed

2008-04-02T11:52:00.005-05:00

Mia was sitting on her grandfather's lap the other day, when she pointed at his stomach and asked why his tummy was so big. A funny moment but something a little more serious was brewing. He hadn't felt so hot for a couple of days, nausea and lots of pain. I could only guess it was morning sickness. He looked pretty good to be about 4 months along! A couple of days later he had my mom take him to the ER. He was admitted on the spot. Because he is a transplant patient, he was taken to the cardiac ICU. After meeting with a horde of different doctors, giving the blood and urine samples, it was determined that he had a kidney stone. He got lucky and was given a bunch of morphine to ease the pain. The nurse gave him 4mm and within about a second, he was out. Must be nice. Anyway, after a scan, it was announced that he wasn't pregnant but had a 7mm kidney stone! So, no baby. Mia was disappointed because it wasn't a ball doot(pumpkin) seed she was convinced he had swallowed. Yesterday morning, he was taken to the OR for a stent, not sure exactly what it is, other than something to open the pieces parts to allow the stone to pass. Upon getting it jammed in the "thingy," the doctor discovered that there was some globby things in his blood and that it may be a buildup of medicine, instead of the kidney stone. So, we are waiting to see what the globs are and if the stone will dissolve on its own. It is still very much up in the air. Luckily, my dad felt immediate relief and needs no morphine to combat the pain and can go home in the morning. As far as the "thing" in the "thingy," it could stay in there for a year! Fun! Hopefully, the stone will just dissolve and things will be fine again. So, while we don't have all the answers yet, there is no baby and no ball doot seed. Case closed.

Just sitting around

2008-03-26T20:12:00.017-05:00

Recently, a case of mistreatment has surfaced in the state of Kansas that is so bizarre that it cannot go without mention. This isn't a case of horrible child abuse or neglect. This is a case of a woman left on the toilet for 2 years. Two years?!? The "victim" is a 35 year old woman, that is supposed to have no form of mental illness. Her boyfriend is 37 and supposedly, he shows no signs of mental illness. Hmmm...

There have been many questions raised about what kind of people these are. Since I am not one to judge, or at least, will pass on this couple, I am going to just pretend that I was left on the toilet for 2 years and try to figure out what I would have missed. Here is a brief list of what I would have missed, in no particular order:

American Idol-Who won last year?
Harry Potter movies-I'm not sure he has a spell for the removal of a toilet seat from one's arse. Bloody hell, Ron, get off the pot!
Shopping-There is no need for a Coach or new shoes when you sit on the potty all day.
Family birthdays/holidays-If there is cake or something tasty, I need to be there. Open mouth,insert food, now.
Calliou-Wait, I hate that whiny, little dork!
Peaches-I would have missed the evolution of a sweet, delicate canine into something we could butcher and eat for a year. Not really. I don't think she would be too tender. Nothing like a tough, beagle fajita.
Seeing the sun-This is kind of iffy as I am a white as a ghost and hate the heat bearing down on my pale flesh. Unless your bathroom has a window, you would need one of those lamps that people with seasonal affective disorder have.
Cooking-Not just eating is fun. Cooking something new and exciting and then waiting for your husband to clean it up can be fun too. Come to think of it, I think my husband's reason for not cleaning the kitchen was because he was in the bathroom. Better wait til he comes out.
Flat screen, HD TV's-I don't watch much TV but it is infintely more interesting when you can see the hair on Christi Lee Cook's lip as she battles to sing some lame country song, as well as to see the red pupils of Paula Abdul's eyes. Drugs are bad!
Target-Need I say more? I don't know anyone that doesn't like a little retail therapy at Target. I know women that go multiple times per day. I am not one of them, as far as you know.
Showers-I'm not sure how you bathe while sitting on the toilet. Toilet water is not the same as eau de toilet, that is for sure. Do you just stretch over to reach your toothbrush? I would be willing to skip Target, but not a daily shower, sometimes more.
My sweet girl-My guess is that if Mia saw me sitting on the potty for 2 years, she might have gotten the potty training thing a little earlier and maybe even easier. Her little Elmo potty seat would have probably made my buns feel better also.
Taco Shop-We are a family of Taco Shop lovers. There is nothing better than a mess of tacos, all of which sends us to the bathroom, so we may have been ok stuck in there for 2 years. Bring on the Tums.

Now, of course there are things that I wouldn't have missed. The summer heat, cleaning the house, going to the dentist for a crown, laundry and the whole Hillary/Obama business. They are both full of crap so maybe we should stick them away in a bathroom somewhere. There is probably room in there for Mccain too. Better them then me.

The aftermath of this weird bathroom predicament is that there is a woman stuck in ICU because she can't walk. Her legs are probably atrophied and one wonders what else is wrong. Her man was charged and adding to those charges is indecent exposure. Only in Kansas...

Lipstick Whore

2008-03-21T11:54:00.020-05:00

It has been pointed out, probably more than once, that I am a lipstick whore. When one sits through the Monica Lewinsky interview and is only curious about what color her lipstick is, you know there is an issue. Kind of gives lipstick and whore a new meaning, sorry couldn't resist! If given the pleasure of defining this term, I would say that a lipstick whore has more than, say, 10 lipstick tubes in her makeup collection, including those in her purse. I know, 10 doesn't constitute a Clinique counter by any means, but how many lipsticks does one woman need? Well, a bunch is the best possible answer.

I recently counted all of my lipsticks/lip balms and ended up with the rather large number of, are you ready for this? 71! What the hell? Why, oh, why does one woman, that doesn't even work, need 71 lipsticks??? I don't know. I can't answer. The only answer that I can offer, and even this is kind of iffy, is that I LOVE lipstick. Lame, I know, but in order to understand, you have to examine my makeup habits.

I wasn't allowed to wear makeup til I was 15. I don't know if that is some magic age in which a young teen channels Mary Kay and is able to apply cosmetics with the precision of an artist or what the deal is. I think that I was allowed to wear foundation, probably in some color that made me look too peachy, eyeshadow, that was probably metallic baby blue, and lipstick, in some tarty shade of sparkly pink. Whatever the colors, as a young girl, I probably looked like I had enrolled in an after school prostitution training program. It couldn't have been good, especially with a bi-level haircut.

Fast forward a few years. I am now in my 30's, ok, late 30's, and have learned more about what colors are flattering on me and maybe even you. I can tell you that peach is a fruit and not a color that should be smeared all over your face. Metallic blue has been outlawed, or should be. Blending is a must and should be taken care of before you leave the house and not a minute after. I will say it again, BLEND! I still haven't figured out mascara. I know someone that admits she is a mascara junkie. It is a hobby for her as lipstick is a hobby for me. I don't do mascara. It bothers my contacts, makes them dry and how can you possibly look good while you are constantly messing with your eyes. Drops just make it run, so I just gave up. I don't curl my eyelashes either. That little grabber/curler/pincher scares me. I couldn't even tell that they curled when I used the little torture device. I do use foundation, only it is the mineral type. Supposedly formulated from all natural ingredients and includes a sunscreen property. No more yucky triangle wedges full of yucky, slimy foundation for me! I simply dip my cute, little Kabuki brush in a bit of the dust and swirl it around on my face and look better than Giselle. Well, not exactly, most of the time I can't even see it on, so who really knows what it looks like. I can still see the damn freckles, or age spots, as my doctor calls them (bastard). Haven't figured out how to rid myself of the spots without turning myself into the female version of Michael Jackson.

All of this cosmetic rhetoric brings me back to my original topic of lipstick. I really have no idea why I have so many. Oddly enough, many of the colors are similiar or a shade or so apart. I also have a few duplicates. One for my purse, one for the makeup drawer, another to store because I love the color and run out quickly. I am not picky about brands either. This is just a small rundown of brands. Lloreal, Clinique, Lorac, Smashbox, Calvin Klein, Victoria Secret, Mary Kay and Chanel can all be found. Some of these tubes are pretty, some are just ugly plastic. It really doesn't matter, I like them all. I am like my own mini-Sephora. The sad thing is, I have a few favorites so many don't even get used, except by Mia, who is finding her inner cover girl and deciding that lipstick is the most important part of her outfit. Let's hope she blends.

MySpace? Facebook?

2008-03-18T09:43:00.006-05:00

Due to the unyielding pressure from mom's in my mom group, I created a page on MySpace. The page quickly grew from a couple of random pictures to a list of 60 odd people that I supposedly call my "friends." I was looking at my so-called friends and realized that there are a few that I have never met, will never meet and could really care less about, though I don't lump them all in together. For instance, who is this "Amy" woman? Oh, that is right! She was the winner of some FoodTv new talent show. Apparently, she has her own show. Seen it? No, me either. Do I care? Well, no.
There is "4 hours to go", in Oklahoma City. I have only driven through OKC, therefore, I have no idea who this is. Her page says she is having her baby in 4 hours. Way to go and congratulations! If I knew you, I might have at least sent a card.
Look at poor Fred! I have a great deal of respect for him, as an actor and as the potential president. Since he dropped out of the race, are we still friends? Would his wife be angry to know that he has a hot mama on his friends list? Did I say that out loud? Oh...
Sean Hannity. He is a hottie and I swear he and Ann Coulter are getting it on in a coat closet somewhere at the Fox studio. I would if I was her! Did I say that out loud? Anyway, if my husband would watch something besides the news, I wouldn't have to lust after the newsguy. And let's face it, Alan Colmes is yuck with a capital Y!
I also have some family and potential family members listed as friends. They have to be my friend don't they? I think it is some marriage rule, you inherit the family upon the "I do" portion of the wedding ceremony. I would be seriously embarassed if they didn't want to be my friend. Though I don't like it when my 30 something nephew calls me "auntie." Wait til I see him next time!
I also have included on my friends page, a few authors that I like. Haven't met any of them, of course, and they don't know that I exist, no matter that I received email from some of them. I figure they have some flunky answer their email and respond appropriately to the legions of fan crap they receive.
This leaves the people I don't like, why are they on my list? I can't answer that and won't try, lest I hurt someone's feelings or get my own hurt. Snot or no snot, I guess you are my friend.
Facebook is another "friend" site that I got sucked into. I have a mere 29 friends. Where is everyone? Frankly, I am appalled that Sean Hannity hasn't begged me to be on his. Maybe Ann told him no, I don't know. Maybe I will ask Allan, well, maybe not.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

2008-03-08T17:13:00.013-06:00

When I was little, I was terrified by those enormous grandfather clocks. They were not only massive but the chimes could wake the dead. My grandparents had one that sat in the foyer of their huge house. I would sleep on the second floor, miles from where this clock sat and would inevitably be awakened at midnight by the chiming of this monster clock. I would cover my head with my pillow and pull up the covers to insulate myself from the ghastly clanging. It never really worked, so after I mentioned it, my grandmother rigged the chimes so they wouldn't chime. However, I still didn't like the big, scary clock in the foyer. It literally wrecked one of my afternoons.
My grandfather was a doctor. He was likely to write a prescription for a highball rather than an antibiotic. He was happy to give me cream soda and let me ride standing in the front seat of his big boat of a car while he went on a beer run. Eventually, I begged for a sip of his beer and he relented. Whatever beer he drank really hit the spot for this 4 year old! Fast forward a few days, my dad and I are getting some sun in my grandmother's gigantic garden. It seems a block away from the house. My dad asks me to get him a beer. I can do that. Off to the house I go to get the beer and a cream soda for myself. I get the beer and open it and drink about half. I take the half full beer, or half empty, however, you look at it, to my dad. He doesn't say anything. Later he asks if I will get him another. Ok, no big deal. I run the half block to the kitchen and return with another half full beer for him. He is starting to get a little suspicious of his 4 year old daughter. By now, I am getting a little antsy. Not in a falling down drunk stupor, more of, "I need to pee and I need to pee NOW." I ask my dad to take me to the bathroom because even at 4, I wasn't into peeing outside. He tells me just to go. I don't budge. See, the bathroom in the front hall sits directly across from the biggest, loudest grandfather clock in the world. Whether it is chiming or not, I am terribly afraid of this clock. What to do?
After mulling this journey of probable doom, in which I encounter the clock from hell, I decide that it is impossible to wait any longer, lest I have my young kidneys explode. I run as fast as my 4 year old legs will carry me, right past the evil clock to the bathroom with the ugly lanoleum floor. I lift up my dress and proceeded to pee all over the floor! Everyone got a laugh at the girl who peed on the bathroom floor after drinking too much of her dad's beer. Oddly enough, this story still comes up, 35 years later. Damn, clock...

Pen Ultimate

2008-03-05T16:28:00.009-06:00

The other day at lunch, a friend gave me a piece of paper that set my heart aflutter! It was but a small paper but thrilled me nonetheless. What exactly could change me from a normal person to a woman with a burning desire to go to an office supply store? A coupon for retractable Sharpies! A pack of multicolored fun! Doodling for hours! All of this fun for $2 a pack! With a limit of 2 packs! WOOHOO! There are few things that are more fun than a bunch of cool pens. I was ready to head over to make the purchase right then, lunch or no lunch. Lest my excitement make my friend want to commit me to the nearest psych ward, I grabbed the coupon and anxiously waited to head across the parking lot to the office supply store. Upon our arrival, we found the shelves empty, apparently the pens are being phased out. After a few calls by a gracious store employee, we scored with the last 4 remaining packs in all of Wichita. Battling the Kellogg/Rock intersection proved hazardous as many a U turn occured. Then, there was the elderly lady that cut me off, but no worries, I was on my way for pens! I happily paid the $4 for my $50 worth of pens and went home. The possiblities are endless and I can't wait to try them all out. I'm not sure when I developed this odd pen fetish. If it looks cool, I will ask to take it. I have pens from all types of businesses, including my doctor's office. Dr. Gary was kind enough to give me a pen with a big, purple nose on it. I cherish each pen like it has some intrinsic value, which I suppose it doesn't. Luckily, I know others that are afflicted with this same pen weirdness that I posess, so I don't feel quite as bad. Pen lovers unite!

Art?

2008-03-04T10:05:00.002-06:00

On our way to school each day, we pass an art school called Monart. The marquee says they can teach anyone to draw. Well... I have always wanted to learn to draw. Max went there for a few lessons and came home with some pretty neat drawings. I took art in school since you had to and that is the only reason. I have never been too gifted with a pencil or paintbrush. My mom is talented but I didn't inherit any of that gift and sometimes I wonder if odd shapes painted on a canvas is really art or not. Playing Pictionary with my dad and myself can be a challenge even for someone into abstract art. My dad actually tried to pass off a circle with a line under it for a tree. Not that I am a Rembrandt myself, my stick figures are even poor. So, maybe when I become rich, I will take some art lessons to improve my scary stickmen, or maybe not.

Freedom

2008-02-27T06:46:00.002-06:00

In-vested

2008-02-25T19:05:00.006-06:00

During our trip to Seattle, I noticed that a lot of women seemed to be wearing down vests. Having lived in Colorado and South Dakota, I know what cold feels like, and it usually requires something with arms. Here in Kansas, it is a bit different, cold one minute, semi-warm next. I spoke to both of my sister-in-laws about why the vest is so happening on the Seattle fashion scene. They both stated that a vest was easier to wear than a huge, down jacket, as well as that semi-cold factor. Seattle is pretty nice in the winter, a little damp but there is little in the way of sleet falling on you. Hmmmm... I guess I needed a vest and of course, my sister-in-law, Cyndi was in complete and total agreement. She was the one that also turned me on to Chaco sandals but that is another post for another day. My other vested sister in law, Carol escorted me to the mall for my first vest shopping experience. I was on a pre-vest high! We started out in a store where the vests were $19! How could I refuse buying one, or a couple, as it turned out. I liked a black one and Carol liked a pink one so I had 2 vests! I even tore out the tags and wore the black one right off. I was looking good! Next door to the $19 vest store, I found an army green vest, with a fur hood! WOW! This vest was cool! Included in that purchase was a sweater that matched. Ok, so in the span on 5 minutes, I owned 3 vests. Maybe overkill but I got a great deal and isn't that what counts? I still wear my vests because you can never tell what the Kansas weather will yield. I don't see many people wearing vests here but that is ok, I know I am cool, literally and figuratively.

Date Night

2008-02-23T09:36:00.006-06:00

Tonight is our date night! Max is at his grandparents house and Mia will be going to her grandparents this afternoon. We don't have big plans, go to church, hit the new Baskin Robbins, check out the new books at Borders and tomorrow, brunch at Piztros. Our "dinner" tonight is consisting of Baskin Robbins. I know they only have ice cream but we have decided to "save" ourselves to gorge at the brunch. Why do our dates center around food? Why do I remember certain events only because of where we ate? How come when I drive, I have to use restaurants as landmarks to get somewhere? The fact is that I don't go out to eat much and enjoy eating. I am a firm believer that if you go out to enjoy something that you didn't cook, then eat up and order dessert, or eat dessert instead. Screw the waistline!

Party Time-Slumber Party Style

2008-02-23T09:05:00.005-06:00

Once again, I have stepped out of my comfort zone and had a party. And, not just any party, a Slumber Party. The name conjures up cute girls in pigtails, having pillow fights and staying up late. The cold, hard truth is that there are no girls in pigtails and the only pillow you will see is one that looks like a vagina. Two women in my mommy group are distributors, one a recent convert, and this was her first show. After our friends ate and drank, we got down to the business of describing, handling and tasting items that can enhance our sex lives. I have to admit that sometimes I get embarassed, not only from handling a glittery, blue spinning vibrator but having people I "know" talk about certain kinds of stimulation in certain kinds of places! I, mean, I know your husbands and I have eaten at your houses, not sure I want to know what you have stuck and where. To top if off, my mom was there and I sure don't want to know what she likes to hit her G spot with! Aside from my general embarassement, the party went well. Our presenter did a fine job explaining where and what the various and sundry gadgets can do for you. Party sales yielded me a nice new gadget, purple with spikey deals guaranteed to get the job done. "Honey, where are the batteries?"

Channeling my inner Cyndi

2008-02-04T14:36:00.000-06:00

I have to put it out that I am a total introvert! I don't like going to parties, mingling with strangers or cleaning my house, so that other people, whether I know them or not, can sit in my livingroom and look at the dust bunnies floating about, while pretending to have a good time. I just don't, probably never will. Keeping that in mind, I decided to have a little get together, nothing very grand, just a couple of girlfriends and their kids over on a Friday night. I casually mentioned this to my husband and he was aghast! The barrage of questions flew. How many kids? Are their husbands coming too? What are you going to eat? How late does something like this last? I have to admit that I really could only answer that we were going to be there and it was next Friday night. I had to have a plan...
I have a sister in law, Cyndi, that is better than Martha Stewart and Betty Crocker, rolled into one. She is not only one of the nicest people you will ever meet, but she is an inspiration to those that entertain and those who don't, myself falling into the latter category. I was thrilled to meet Cyndi, who generously loaned Bobby and I her gazebo, overlooking the Puget Sound for our wedding. What I wasn't expecting was a picture perfect home overlooking the ocean, decorated so cute that I wasn't sure I should even sit on the furniture, which was cushy, brown leather that looked and felt like butter. The carpet was white, gasp! The bathroom had a heated floor with windows looking out onto the hillside. I spent alot of time in that bathroom, just soaking up all cool bathroom stuff.
Not only does Cyndi have a sense of decorating that I envy but her family get togethers are nothing short of amazing! All the family, and we are a big group, eat, drink, play games and mingle, complete with yummy appetizers and fabulous dinners. If we aren't gorging on chalupas, we are noshing on crab, freshly fetched from the crab pot, dripping with butter! Heaven on a plate and always followed with some dessert that my mouth wants but my butt doesn't need.
In my mind, I can't measure up to the hostess prowess that Cyndi displays. So, when my party rolls around, I am thinking of ways to channel my inner Cyndi. Of course, I clean and clean and clean. But I feel there are hostessing items that I must master. I gather all dishes, napkins and silverware. I put the cups by the drinks. I put the food all together, I really don't know what else to do with it. My piece de resistance is the CAKE! Not an ordinary cake, but a chocolate lava cake, that will be baking when the guests arrive, the scent wafting through the house as they enter. I am clearly proud of this cake!
At the appointed time, the guests arrive, bringing food and drink to share with us. Kids run around, music plays in the background and we are having fun. All in all, a great night, the first I hope of many. I am left tired, with an empty cake pan. I am on my way to being a hostess!
By the way, I am sitting on a brown, cushy leather couch, can't bring myself to get the white carpet!

AF, go home!

2008-01-30T17:57:00.000-06:00

What does a hockey team and a (insert nationality here)girl have in common? They both change their pads after the third period. YUCK! Aunt Flo, riding the cotton pony, on the rag, whatever you choose to call it, it SUCKS! I should know. When I was the delicate age of 10, I was blessed with the curse of womanhood. Wearing a bra and wearing a pad became synonomous with pain in the ass. At only 10, I was forced to tether myself to a heating pad to alleviate the horrible monthly alien that ravaged me. I passed out in the bathroom one summer day and my mom was forced to drag me to the hospital for an ultrasound of my aching innards. She made me drink 5 gallons of water in the 10 minutes I had before we had to leave for the hospital. Apparently, you have to have to be very full of water in order for an ultrasound to show anything. Consequently, I nearly peed in the car, I nearly peed in the entry of the hospital, I nearly peed in the wheelchair they had to drive me to the third floor in. Upon getting naked for the test, the tech told me I could go pee not once, but twice. Needless to say, the test revealed nothing. Kotex and myself were the only ones not in agreement.
Moving on a few months, my doctor was convinced this would all blow over, WRONG! You would think that just thinking about your period would not be enough to trigger its onset. You would be wrong. I would bleed at the drop of a hat. Praying in church set off the Red Sea and not the one you are thinking of. Running in PE, loosened whatever dam held back the flow. I was truly miserable! I was 10 mind you!
Armed with a PE waiver due to medical issues, no shit, I was given an RX for birth control pills. This RX lasted 28 years! I was sure my girly pieces/parts were not only faulty but now disconnected with the rest of me.
Luckily, I became pregnant very quickly with Mia. Of course, Bobby and I were newlyweds and humping like a couple of rabbits for the month we conceived. It was fun, no period for 9 months and perhaps beyond. (Ha, Ha! You thought I meant the sex!) The no period period lasted almost 4 years! So, now that Mia can potty on her own, we decided to go for it again! Go off the pill and have sex like a couple of high schoolers. I have been off the pill since late October. Things with Aunt Flo were reasonable til this month. I got hideously painful cramps while we were at dinner on New Years Eve. It hurt when I coughed so much I thought that my vital organs were on their way out. Woke up with my period, Happy New Years!
Got me period again. This time it was January 25th. Hmmmm, thought I was supposed to get it only once a month?

Too pooped to pop!

2008-01-24T16:36:00.000-06:00

I want another baby. I am getting up there in age and just feel that it is a last chance effort before I totally quit having sex. No, not really, I just would like to try and have another baby. My baby isn't a baby anymore, she can dress herself, although it is a style that only she subscribes to, and can finally go potty on her own as well as a bunch of other neat 3 year old things. I figure there is no better time like the present to try and procreate! Well, after some cajoling, the husband is on board. This was back in November. Fast forward to January, the baby dancing isn't quite going as well as I had hoped. For one thing, I am way too tired to have sex after about 10pm. Kind of makes it hard, or not, so to speak. It almost takes too much energy to even talk about sex. Which makes we wonder why I am so keen on having a baby. I chalk it up to the fact that the lack of sleep, diapers and sore nipples will pass and I will be left with a sweet little child that loves me unconditionally or until the need for his/her therapy arises.

Give me shoes or give me death!

2007-10-24T10:37:00.000-05:00

My wonderful, little, 3 year old daughter loves shoes! She loves them so much that she requested boots and the new fuzzy Crocs, just like Dad's, only pink, for her birthday. I am wondering where she got this intense desire for shoes! LOL! I wasn't aware this type of gene existed. When I was around 5 or 6, I was forced by the evil doctor to wear "special" shoes because I had no arch. My parents had to make an actual appointment with the shoestore for me to get fitted. We got to be escorted into our very own special shoeroom. I always had the same nice man fit me with the most HORRENDOUS shoes I have ever seen! I had tennies that looked like red, white and blue bowling shoes. There are pictures so I know they existed! Because of this arch problem, I was unable to wear sandals. The horror! We lived in Texas and everyone was wearing sandals. Jelly sandals, flip flops, thong sandals, every kind of sandals! Not me. I remember vividly crying, screaming and acting like a fool at 7 years of age because, damnit all, I wanted sandals. Cheap ones from Kmart, I didn't care. Well, wouldn't you know? The ugly shoestore had finally managed to make some hideously unfashionable sandals! My mom, tired of my ranting, raving, teeth gnashing behavior, caved and spent, what I am sure was a fortune on these sandals. White with a couple of buckles and that lovely arch bump. I wore the hell out of them. As the years passed, I liked shoes even more. I could wear whatever I desired, and I did. From expensive tennis shoes to lime green Kenneth Cole's, my shoe wardrobe paralleled that of Imelda's. I am still quite the shoe woman and I can see my Mia is following in my footsteps, LOL! She plays in her shoes as well as mine. Who can ask for more than that?

Insert sad face here

2007-06-12T20:09:00.001-05:00

I am sad for my friend! A man she loved dearly has disappointed her to the point of leaving him. This isn't to say there aren't extenuating circumstances that need to be addressed but you always feel a sense of loss when you split with someone. I feel it too. When I receive email from her, I can feel her pain, the sense of loneliness that comes from leaving someone close. We have all been there, hearts aching, eyes brimming with tears that come as soon as you hit the pillow, an empty feeling in the pit of our stomachs. Only time can heal this type of wound, however, our hearts don't tell time and are unaware of the pain that every ounce of our body feels every time we pass a restaurant we ate at, a movie we once watched together or a song on the radio that was our favorite. I can only hope that my friend and her man can work things out. That he gets the help that he desperately needs to in order to maintain a healthy relationship and healthy family life. That he can make her happy til the end of their days. I am hoping for him...

Oh, the woes!

2007-06-01T15:22:00.000-05:00

Mia is 2 1/2. I am thinking it is time to stop paying for diapers and let's potty train! What the hell was I thinking? I don't have a Potty PhD and apparently never will. This has been more complicated than trying to figure out whether we should have kids or not. I thought the first order of business should be panty buying. Not just an ordinary thong will do for a toddler! Off we went to Toys R' Us for big girl panties. I let her peruse the display of every known cartoon character that ever appeared on underwear. She, of course, picked the Elmo ones, didn't even need a second look. She calls them, "Mo DD pannies." It is very cute. Next, we get a potty chair and even a "Mo DD" potty seat for the big potty, just trying to cover all the bases. If she wants to go in a bush, I will buy one of those too. I stayed home every day for a week trying to get the potty training taken care of. It went pretty well. She told me when she was ready to pee and I set her on the big potty. She went, got a sticker and moved on. Then, one day she decided no more Mo DD pannies! Lo and behold, we were not pottying in the potty anymore. I felt like a failure. My 2 year old can't, or won't, pee in the big potty, not even with snack bribes or a brand new Coach bag. Nothing. So, here I sit with a case of diapers and daughter that tells me when she needs a diaper change. No, worries, she still has a couple of years before kindergarten so maybe I will still have time.

Working on my fitness...

2007-06-01T15:13:00.000-05:00

Up until this past week, I was visiting my local Y three times a week. A fellow mommy persuaded me to go sit on a bike with her for 20 minutes. Twenty minutes isn't really anything. For one thing, I never broke a sweat. Truly the only thing that happened from this semi-workout, is that Mia would become hysterical in the Kid Zone nursery. She was getting the workout, not me. Granted, I don't think a raging crying fit burns many calories. Eventually, I started going alone, sometimes meeting up and sometimes not. I found that I can do an hour of pretty good cardio without feeling like I am going to die. It feels good to sweat and my skin looks great! Well, I am also supposed to be lifting weights for, what my trainer calls, "toning." I think he is full of crap! My boobs are already big enough, thank you, very much. It is nice to be at the Y first thing in the morning. The only people there are elderly men that can use the Arc machine better than me, the fitness freaks(you know the ones, tight clothes, run for an hour at the highest speed on the treadmill) and firemen. Hmmm... I am hoping that if I keel over on the Arc, that at the very least a nice looking firemen comes to rescue me.

Money, money, money

2007-04-01T08:40:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my beloved and I were at our home away from home, or as it is called in the retail world, the Coleman outlet. It is a place that commonly finds us dropping large sums of money all in the pursuit of the most excellent camping experience. I abhor camping, unless there is a good firm, king size bed and a spacious bathroom within the "tent." Anyway, I was standing around watching Mia dismantle the insulated cup display, when I saw money laying in front of the cash register area. I walked over and could clearly see that it was a $100 bill! I don't see them regularly so I looked at it and told the check out guy that someone lost their money. He seemed to remember it was a guy that bought a stove and had a wad of bills. He was long gone. He put the money aside and told his manager and they agreed to hold it out, for when the guy came back. While the thought of keeping the money never entered my mind, my question is will the guy think that he lost $100 at the Coleman store? What will they do with it, if he doesn't come back? Honestly, I don't think that the employee should keep it but I don't know if I deserve it either. It wasn't long ago that I was sitting in the school parking lot and watched some money blow out of a mom's pocket. I rushed out to get it before it blew away. It was a $20 bill. The lady checked her pocket and realized she also was missing a $5 bill. I ran back to her car and there it was. I gave it to her and she was thankful. It seems that I have been finding quite a bit of money lately. It would seem that my honesty is being tested. I believe that I have passed and am wondering what the next test will be. Lord, please don't let it be patience!

Boycott

2007-03-28T18:32:00.000-05:00

I am officially boycotting summer! There are many reasons for boycotting summer. The first reason, it is so incredibly hot in Kansas that your clothes stick to all parts of your body. You begin to sweat right after you get out of the shower. In fact, sometimes I am unsure as to what I am towelling off. Another valid reason for boycotting summer is that Kansas is landlocked, no water to cool off in. Of course, there are lakes, but they are brown and we are forced to use them for our water supply. Plus, there is always that shark factor, you know what I mean. Of course, there are rivers, but they are brown and frequently have bodies floating in them and I don't mean for a leisurely float either. Another reason that I don't like summer is that I don't like the sun. I will wear a hat and cover my entire my body in clothes and sunscreen, all of which adds to that sweat factor. Very unpleasant. Therefore, I am appealing to Nancy Pelosi to sign some kind of Congressional veto to end summer. Maybe she can huff and puff and blow it away with all of her hot air.

ANTZ

2007-03-20T18:16:00.000-05:00

The other afternoon, I walked into the kitchen for a drink. What I saw was shocking, to say the least. The floor was moving! Upon closer inspection, I could see some very large ants roaming around. They had entered from the window, which I closed immediately. Mia walked in and screamed, "Ants!" at the top of her lungs. I tried to step on them but the little suckers wouldn't die. I resorted to pulling out the vacuum and Hoovering them up. I have been keeping the window shut and no more ants have appeared. That is until... I hear this little voice, yelling at the top of her lungs, "Ants!" I rush in to assess the ant amount and sure enough, with the window closed, there are still ants coming in to visit. Mia is hysterical and begins randomly stomping on the defenseless ants with her pink Elmo shoes. It doesn't work so I smash them and remove their lifeless carcasses with a paper towel. I will have to wash the floor tomorrow as some of the remains lay embedded in the grout. What a fun way to start the day!

We want you as a new recruit!

2007-03-17T19:38:00.000-05:00

I was in the middle of making jambalaya pasta, when the phone rang. Of course, I was removing the limbs and innards of a shrimp so my hands were nice and clean. This sexy, smooth, dark chocolate voice asked for me. I answered that it was me. Dark Chocolate told me that I had been attending classes at the local junior college. Yeah, so? It was at that point he became Sgt. Dark Chocolate, local Army recruiter. I offered my first comment, that I was too old. Not a problem, I still have a couple of more years to go before I was considered "too old" or to deaf to hear the drill seargent yelling in my face. I mentioned that I am overweight. I am told that weight is relative. Hmm... Well, if you think that you are going to get my fat ass before dawn to run, you are high and the army needs to get you in for drug testing ASAP. Next, I tried that I was married with 2 kids. Still not a problem. Ok, well I have to drop my son at school by 815, so I will see you after all physical activity has been done for the day. I guess they have bootcamp daycare because I don't think any of these people want to watch a 2 year old. Finally, I broke it to Sgt. Dark Chocolate that I was injured on the job at a correctional facility and would not be able to participate in any activity where there were teenagers yelling at me about what I could and could not do, after all , that had been my job at the prison. There was no reply. I thanked him for calling and told him that I had to return to dismantling shrimp for my dinner and have a nice day. Guess I will talk to him again in a few weeks.

Goodwill Games

2007-03-15T08:43:00.000-05:00

It is my own opinion that I dress pretty well. I think that my son and daughter dress pretty well, too. I don't know if you find this shocking or not, but most all of our clothes come from Goodwill. I consider it a game to find stylish and in near perfect condition items at a place where most people send their clothes, not buy them. I don't buy anything stained or torn. If a button is missing, I search the inside for a replacement, that's what they are for, after all. You would be surprised at the shirts I have gotten that are missing the button when it is RIGHT there! Are people that lazy? I have seen all types of different brands at Goodwill. Some of my finds include, Polo, Oshkosh, Old Navy, Gap, Coach, and just about everything else. I can't justify spending $40 for a dress for my daughter but I have no problem spending $1.99 and that is before my 10% discount. I also find all kinds of decorative stuff. In the corner cupboard in my kitchen, I display bright colored pieces of decorative glass. Almost all came from Goodwill, and were under $5. Next time you see me, take a good look. Chances are my outfit cost about $6 and some change. Makes you think next time you go shopping and shell out $50 for some jeans.

Zzzzzz

2007-03-15T06:27:00.000-05:00

I admit it, I take a nap every, and I mean, every afternoon. My daughter lays down at 1230 and I lay down at 1. Sounds a little ridiculous for a grown woman to take a nap but I don't care. Let me give you my average night. I go to bed around 10pm. I fall asleep instantly. Around 3am, I wake up and spend roughly the next 1-2 hours thinking. I am thinking about everything. Is Mia breathing? Does Max have clean uniforms? Does the oil in the cars need to be changed? Why is Peach so darn fat and why does she have to sleep between my legs? Icky needs a bath, he reeks and yet here he is on my pillow. You know, good, useless stuff. I don't want to get up and I can't turn the light on to read, so there I lay. I don't watch the clock until I know that in order not to be a total zombie, I have to go back to sleep. I pick a time around 5 minutes from the time it is and shut my eyes and open them again til that time. At that precise time, I close my eyes and go back to sleep til I have to get up. Weird, I know, at least I have some sort of goal though. I fall out of bed around 545 to start the day, already tired. It is an unfortunate situation. I have personally hung out with Abe and the beaver. Their desire for me to take medication for this problem was made clear. I have been there, done that with 2 kinds of sleep aids and not much changed. Until I find something that works, I am stuck. So, don't bother me between 1-2, I am buried under the covers with a fat beagle and a stinky poodle.

A good friend is hard to find

2007-03-13T16:39:00.000-05:00

I have a friend I will call "N." I didn't ask her if I could use her real name so am settling for using her inital. I met N in the 7th grade. I remember her vividly. N was tall, had nice, wavy hair and always was dressed nicely in a dress. I also remember her walking home with me and loving my mom's chocolate chip cookies. Anyway, I was in school with N til about sophomore year, when she moved to a rival high school. I missed her and wasn't sure what really happened to her. Fast forward to late last year. I was surfing Classmates.com and found her! I was thrilled and emailed her at once. We spoke on the phone and exchanged more email. She sent pictures as did I. When I got her photo email, I was almost scared to look. Did she look the way I remember? Do I look years older than her? I downloaded her photo and waited to see N. WOW! N was a woman and a really great looking one at that. Not that I was expecting to see N as a 7th grader anymore, but I was shocked to see she had grown up. It was actually kind of sad for me to know that we had missed so much of each others lives. N and I regularly keep in touch. She has a man that treats her the way she deserves and lives life to the fullest. I am glad to have found her. Good friendships are hard to find.

HELLO?!

2007-03-12T19:31:00.000-05:00

I was in Walmart the other day, doing my usual shopping. It is early in the am, as I don't like crowds. There are very few people shopping at 830 on a weekday. I was blocking the way and a man tried to pass me. I said excuse me and looked RIGHT at him. He looked RIGHT at me and walked on with his cart, that had a huge bunch of paper towels in it. What is odd about this, is that this man is my UNCLE, has been for almost 38 years. He is not known for being one of the smarter men in the family. He wears velcro shoes, with brown socks and shorts, not a fashionabale guy either. He used to work for the same prison I worked at. I asked them not to hold it against me. His nickname, revealed to me in my interview, was Barney, after a certain Mr. Fife. He frequently let his tilt radio tilt until main compound control would have to dispatch guys to see if he was alright. He was, just oblivious. I guess things don't change much.

You had your hand, where?

2007-03-12T14:38:00.000-05:00

Admittedly, I don't cook with shrimp that often. Once in a blue moon or blue vein, it seems. I am making a Rachael Ray recipe, jambalaya pasta. I didn't put the name in quotation marks because she had a lame name for it and there is only so much of her that I can stand. She doesn't have the smile of Giada or the sexual vibe of Paula Deen. My husband and daughter are big fans but not for the same reason. Mia loves "Ray" crackers. You can't find a box that doesn't have "Ray" on them. My husband thinks she is hot. I guess if you think that a flat chest, wide hips and a propensity to call soup, "stoup" and sandwiches, "sammies," is hot than "Ray" is your gal. Ok, so back to my shrimp story. I like them and will eat them. Cleaning them is another story. First off, I got them out of the bag and they still have their little legs. Slimy, but they had to use them once or twice, so the thought of my yanking them off and discarding them is a little sad. The little guys aren't known for being the most attractive sea creature, I'm betting. Next, is that horrible, disgusting, blue vein in its back. I know, Alton Brown, told me what it is, and that it can't hurt you. Truth is, do I want to eat what the shrimp ate? Nope. So, with not a lot of time, I set out to remove what I fondly call the "shrimp chute." This is not a nice process. I have already cut the shrimp in half, very dumb, because now I am going to have so much chute that it will be everywhere! There were 24 shrimp in that bag and I am wearing 48 pieces of nasty, blue, stringy shrimp stuff all over my hands and my white T shirt. Smart. All the mess doesn't stop there, I have to dice chicken later. My hands should need a good scalding after this meal.

Yum, yum

2007-03-12T06:16:00.000-05:00

When I was in junior high, there was an ice cream place called Swensons about 2 blocks away from the school. It was based out of San Francisco and all of the goodies had names like Coit Tower and other places that I have still never heard of. The place was really neat with lots of plants, stained glass and a train that ran on a track around the ceiling. LOTS of people went there and it was a fun place for a date, even though I didn't do that yet. They had sooo many good things to eat! One of my favorites was an ice cream soda that had a scoop of ice cream precariously sitting on the edge of tall glass. I never knew whether I should slurp down the soda or eat the ice cream before it melted into a huge puddle at the foot of my glass. Another favorite item was the "Earthquake." It was 8 scoops of whatever flavor ice cream you wanted and then covered with 8 flavors! We always took a couple of my friends when we ordered that. Sometimes when I got a good report card or just whenever she felt like it, my mom would take me to Swensons after school. It was a great treat. A few years later, Swensons closed down. When we went to the Springs a couple of years ago, it was a camping store. Very sad.

Titanic

2007-03-11T15:33:00.000-05:00

I'm sure everyone and their dog has seen "Titanic," with its amazing recreation of the ship that wasn't supposed to sink and the real story of Rose and Jack. I love Kate Winslet, she doesn't care is she is fat or thin, she is what she is. Leo, on the other hand, is a bit different, with his unusual choice of movies to star in and endless desire to save the earth by recycling whatever he can. Good for him. They both looked great in the movie even though Leo still retains that rather feminine quality. Of course, Rose and Jack weren't even real passengers on the Titanic. They just made the story more interesting by getting together, I guess. I saw a Titanic exhibit today and let me just say I would rather marry that weird Billy Zane than go back again. First off, it was waaaayyy too expensive. It was waaaayyy too short. If I had been alone, I could have been done in 20 minutes, and that includes reading all of the signs saying what piece of the ship was in front of me. The exhibit had different items the passengers had, menus, clothing items etc. Nothing very interesting. The only detail I remember was that it would cost $48,000 in today's money to have a first class stateroom! That was only $2500 in 1900's money but even that was alot. I guess old Leo can afford it, I'd be in steerage, no possibility of a rendevous in the back of an old car.

2007-03-10T16:22:00.000-06:00