Flaming

I'm feeling a little sad today so this might not be a great post. It will, however, be all about me.

My birthday was a big bust (as usual). My birthdays are infamous for sucking. I'm beginning to think it's because I put too much emphasis on it. I get too excited and then when nothing big happens, I'm disappointed.
Note to self: do not make large hoopla about birthday next year. Perhaps big will happen then.
I am always saddened by the lack of celebration. This year was the worst. I didn't do a single thing. We went to Outback and I escaped the dreaded wait staff birthday song. There was the possibility of plans, of which I was really, really, really looking forward to. And then, in usual fashion, they fell through. Ok, not so much as fell through as people said they weren't going and then went anyway! What? Whatever.

Y'all know how much I love to shop. In fact, it's in the top three things I do best (third is baking and the second is none of your business). But instead of shopping for lame candle sets and picture frames for teachers, I decided I would create elaborate food baskets. They're very cute! I made so much stuff and all from scratch. I learned that I do not make good marshmallows but that I make kick ass biscotti. I'm always thinking that I'd like to do that for a living; make baskets. All kind of baskets! Wine, cheese & fruit baskets, cookie baskets, smelly (lotions, candles, bath stuff) baskets. There are so many things I want to do. But you know, silly monkey job and very important family prevent me from chasing my crack pipe dreams. Just in case, I stuck little business cards on the bottom of the baskets that sort of advertised that for a price, I'd make more.

Oh! Here's irony for you. My Christmas shopping has been done for several weeks now. Partly to avoid the last minute rush and pandemonium which is Christmas shopping but mostly because I love to shop so much, I get it done very quickly. And I'm organized. However, my mom wants me to take her Christmas shopping tomorrow. At the mall. Ack! I don't want to. But I will. Because she is my mother and I love her. Plus, I'll get to pick out all my own Christmas presents.

I spent Saturday afternoon with my maternal grandparents. I love them. I love them as much as I love anything in the entire world. We ate Barbecue and shopped at the Salvation Army. I feel so lucky to have known them, I am a million times wiser and my life has turned out better because of Gramma and Silly Grandpa Bobby.

Now, I am tired. It's time to put the sadness to bed. Tomorrow, this post may not be here and I'm hoping the happiness will take over again. After all, I'll be playing Santy Clause at school tomorrow with Chicken's teachers.

Post Script: I'd like to again thank everyone who was kind enough to acknowledge my birthday.

Balls Of Steel

Allow me to preface my funny story by insisting that I really do love my husband. And by funny I mean funny like when your brother farted on your head and everyone laughed but you. But onto the story.

And in continuing my multi-part series on stupid men, I give you this:

We went to Orlando last weekend to see my sister and her family who were there on vacation from New Hampshire. We stopped by the Ghirardelli Chocolate Shoppe, my favorite chocolate joint. I needed to pick up some baking supplies and holiday gifts. While I'm there, Husband asks me to get him "something other than the Carmel filled chocolate bar since we always get that at home". So I get him the 60% cacao espresso bar. Because the Carmel filled is the best, I buy myself one and eat one row on the way home, leaving 5 rows for later.
I spent the following day at work thinking about my Carmel chocolate bar. I came home, cooked (and ate) dinner and could not wait to rip into that bitch.

:GASP:

The bitch was gone.
Thinking that perhaps I put the candy in another bag, I asked my husband. "Honey, where is my Ghirardelli Carmel chocolate bar?"

Then it hit the fan.

You see...he ate the fat girl's chocolate. The. Whole. Thing. Then he laughed and said "It wasn't even that good." and left the evidence for all to see.
How are you going to eat a fat girl's high end chocolate, leave the wrapper, insult the candy and not immediately get up off your ass and purchase me a new candy bar? I don't understand.
He is paying for this dearly. I don't know how yet but he will be punished.
By the way, his 60% cacao espresso bar goes untouched. It will be destroyed and so will he.

Edited to add: Husband wants me to tell you that he thinks it's ok that he ate my $4 chocolate bar because I ate his frozen White Castle burgers. But I ate 2 burgers and left him 2. Besides, White Castle v. Ghirardelli? There is no contest there.

Husband shall pay.

Random Statements

An ode to Kara's random facts, I'm going to bite her idea.
This may be long. Enjoy.


I'm terrified of heights, roller coasters and airplanes. I wish I had whiter teeth but can't stand the taste of whitening gunk. I listen to the radio. A lot. I hardly watch TV. My handwriting beauty depends on the pen I'm using. I wish pencils were more permanent, my handwriting is best with pencil. I keep most of my friends like they're family but don't think they do the same. I'm generous and kind. I love pink. ALL colors look great on me except "army" colors and stark white. I'm obsessive about my skin. I rarely wear make up but when I do, I feel 100 times better about myself. I believe in God and miracles. Many miracles have happened to me. I am afraid of ghosts. I wish I would go to church more often but do not feel guilty about it. I mostly think I'm a good parent. I cry. A lot. At least once a week. I worry about my mother every single day. I miss my dad and am daily saddened by his death 5 years later. I enjoy having house guests and parties. I love planning parties and events, especially last minute. I planned my wedding in 3 days yet it takes me 2 months to plan Chicken's birthday parties. I am by far, the most normal and functioning person in my entire family, all sides. I hold grudges for a really long time. Sometimes forever. I'm thoughtful. I love to bake. I'm good at making things. I enjoy my job less and less everyday. I used to want to be a lawyer. Now I'd like to be a teacher but won't go back to school. I wish I lived somewhere else. Like North Carolina. I have moved more than 20 times in my life. I still draw stick people but can color anyone under the table. I don't drink often but when I do, I drink too much. I lived in Vermont for over a year and hated it. I think my husband is so talented but I almost never tell him so. I'm very moody. The reason I'm such a control freak is because I'm petrified I'll turn into my mother. I want another baby but not a boy. Boys scare me. I can be overbearing but I truly mean well. Sometimes I pray for silly things and wonder if I'm wasting God's time. Proper grammar is way too important to me. It takes a lot for me to hate someone. I can be jealous. I'm always afraid to open myspace bulletins because of those stupid "if you don't repost, you'll die" ones. I'm superstitious. I wish I were less conservative in my actions. I am in awe of my child on a daily basis. I talk too much. I'm a strict parent. I bake the best damn chocolate chip cookies and oatmeal cookies this side of the Mississippi. I still have to say "MI SS ISS I PP I" to spell it properly. I'm messy. I'm a clean freak. I'm not as organized as I'd like to be. I love vacations. I don't like the beach because I'm afraid of the tiny clear fish that poke at your feet. I love to swim. Christmas is my favorite holiday because of all the wonderful things I love, like shopping, wrapping, baking and entertaining. I love Rachel Ray and think she's the modern girl's Martha Stewart. I'd pay all the money I have to spend 24 hours with Martha Stewart. I never use cook books. My favorite smell is newborn babies. My birthday is December 14th and I'm always disappointed by the amount of people who don't care or forget. I'm notorious for having horrible birthdays and New Years Eves. I love jewelry but almost never stray from my every day pieces. I love doing laundry. I hate folding and putting away clothes. I clip coupons every Sunday but never use them. I used to think my best physical attribute were my legs and ass. Now I think it's my rack and hair. I have a secret to taking good pictures that make me look thinner. No, I won't share it with you. I don't sing in the shower. I drive fast but have never received a speeding ticket. Husband is my best friend. I have very few close and actual friends but I know a lot of people. I can be pretentious. I love chocolate. I don't like pie. I don't eat desserts with fruit in them. I feel sorry for Britney Spears. I, like Rosie O'Donnell think I can save her. One of my childhood best friends killed herself via shotgun to the head. To this day, I think I could have saved her, too. I have two sisters, I have never lived with either of them. I hated being an only child and silence. I love flowers. Especially tulips. I want to learn to make soup from scratch. I don't have a gold tooth. I read all the time. Most of my time on the Internet is reading a large variety of things. My feelings are hurt easily. I'm naive. I learned to spell naive by spelling Evian backwards. Chicken weighed 8lbs, 2oz and was 3 weeks late. I was in labor for 24 1/2 hours without drugs. I am a champion. I'm not athletic but like to play different sports. I want to join a women's softball or volleyball league. I've never actually played either of those sports. I'm easily overwhelmed. My fantasy life is to be barefoot and pregnant with many children living on a multi-acre lot of land with a small farm house with a garden and craft room. I dance well but few people know. I do it all the time when no one is home. I hate to exercise, I never try fad diets. I once lost 30lbs by switching white bread to wheat and using Equal instead of sugar. I'm secretly attracted to men of color. I sometimes wonder if I had Chicken and married too young. I wouldn't take it back for anything. I'm too old for my age. I have horrible luck with women named Sarah and men named Ryan. My favorite season is summer. I wear shorts, tshirt and flip flops every single day except when it's below 60 degrees. Then I trade that in for jeans, sweatshirt and Nike Shocks.

Secret Lover

I have a secret lover. Well, it's not really a secret anymore. You see, I've been pining away for this relationship for years, dreaming of it in my sleep. Oh, the things we could do together! The memories we could create, the cream we could whip.

What?

I'm talking about my brand-spankin'-new KITCHEN AID CLASSIC PLUS MIXER. (What were you thinking? Oh, you dirty, filthy man!)

Oh yeah, BABY! I've wanted one for as long as I've been out of my mom's house. I've hinted to everyone I know, begged Husband for the past 8 birthdays, Christmases, anniversaries, etc. 8 years have come and gone, no mixer. I got a George Foreman grill once. It was nice but not my dream boy. Earlier in the month, Husband made my dreams come true. "Ok, for your birthday this year, I'll get you the mixer. BUT the refurbished one from Amazon." I was ok with refurbished, as long as it mixed, whipped and kneaded, I didn't care. Then I got the circulars for Black Friday and that's when my life changed.

I stood in line at Target on Friday for nearly 30 minutes to purchase this fantasy contraption. I think I had a tiny orgasm when I actually got the thing in my cart. I guarded it more than I guarded my purse, which at the time, contained hundreds of dollars. (Don't get excited. Most of the time, my wallet contains a Warehouse Club membership card and pennies.) They could take my money, they can't take my boyfriend.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday passed. My new boyfriend remained in his box. I could hear him banging on the inside, begging to be let out. But I didn't have time. There was loads of laundry, lots of things to clean, decorations to be finished, things to do! I wanted to give my boyfriend the proper attention he deserved. Then yesterday came and I MADE time for him. I went to Publix in search of ingredients for a new-to-me cookie recipe, Chocolate/Peanut Butter cups. That's how we would christen our affair; gourmet chocolate and creamy peanut butter. It's like sex in a machine!

Husband played video games, Chicken sang to Hannah Montana and I was happily cutting shortening into flour with ease. My ingredients mixed into a creamy batter while I greased the pans. LOOK MA, NO HANDS!

I overcooked the cookies so they had to get thrown out. But I didn't care.

Thank you, Husband, for making this the BEST birthday present ever.

Except now, you know, you'll have to top this next year. I've got my eye on a diamond tennis bracelet.

The Big O

OJ Simpson saved my mother's life.

At the time of the Simpson trial, she was in a severe depression. If I knew then what I know now, she probably would have been institutionalized. When they decided to broadcast that trial, my mom suddenly had something to live for. She watched every second of the drama. To this day, she has every single book written about the whole fiasco.
By the time it was over, my mom was a little better, went back to work and was on the road to normal (or as normal as my family gets).

OJ Simpson is releasing a book about how he murdered his wife and her boyfriend. Hypothetically, of course. He's also doing a TV special on Fox where he tells an interviewer what and how he committed the murders. You know, hypothetically.
Is this for real?
Why the hypothetical bullshit? He can't be tried again in criminal court and he already owes the Ron Goldman's father millions and millions of dollars from a civil case. (Which, by the way, OJ has been open in saying that he spends all of his money before the father can get his hands on it.) Why not come out with it? We all know you did it. Embrace what a parasite you are; a waste of human flesh and existence.

I've been able to forget that horrible time in my life. All this OJ news only reminds me of it.
And my period. I got my first period on the day OJ fled police in his white Bronco.

Trouble

Crap.

I volunteered to coach Chicken's soccer team this year. I played soccer for two seasons when I was 14; I sucked.


One may ask "Why, o' self-professed-bad-soccer-player, would you sign up for such a task?!" Because during a parent meeting, the director of the soccer program stood up on his golf cart and explained that there were 16 teams and they only had 9 coaches. That means any team without a coach would not be able to play soccer this season. That's horrible. What if Chicken got drafted onto a coach-less team? She would be devastated (not to mention I've already invested $150 in this sport). So I raised my hand to coach.
Chicken said "Mom, girls can't coach soccer. Only boys". Now I HAD to coach. "Girls can do anything boys can do. They can coach and be anything just as good as boys." I told her. Even if we have the worst players and lose every game, it won't matter. As long as my baby girl knows that girls can and should do anything boys can do.

Except pee standing up.


Updated 11/8/06:

We had soccer drafts tonight. I watched two grown ass men nearly come to blows over a couple of 6 year old soccer players. Twice. Of 16 teams, I am only one of two women coaches. The other mom has been coaching soccer for years and is one of the guys. We sat in a big room and chose players for our respective teams. Personally, my only request was that I didn't get any girls that I had from Cheerleading because I wasn't crazy about their parents. I was the only one without a premeditated roster. These men (and woman) knew who was "good" (Good? They're 6!!!!!!) from past seasons. They wanted to form their team with the most powerful players to win. There are no rewards for the "best" team. Everyone gets the same sized trophy. All of this nonsense is based on pure gorilla-like ego. Men can be so stupid.

The Guilt Fairy

Chicken is sleeping in my bed tonight as she is being left with a babysitter tomorrow for the very. first. time. ever. And I am so. freaking. nervous. And feeling guilty. So I've indulged her long request to "please mommy PLEASE let me sleep in your bed tonight.". "Ok, Chicken" I said.
In the past 6 years I've had a handful of nights out but she's always been left in the care of family. Or very close friends. Never a teenager.

"A TEENAGER?!" you say? Before you nominate me for Worst Mother To Ever Bore Child(ren), let me explain. There is a girl who lives in our neighborhood. A very sweet, church going, Publix working, shy, good, 17 year old girl. She lives with her slightly overprotective single mother. Rightfully overprotective. You see, our babysitter is strikingly gorgeous. And if I weren't sure Husband knew that I'd certainly get more than half (probably 3/4), I'd be a little nervous. Anyway, she lives in the neighborhood, therefore making her mother VERY close by in the case of some kind of chaos (and also ensures no boys will be coming over). She is babysitting because I'm out of back up plans.

Normally, my Mom would watch Chicken. But she has a date (and seeing as I am encouraging a slight case of gold digging, I couldn't guilt her into NOT going). Then Chicken was supposed to sleep over her friend's house (who's parents happen to be very close friends of ours) but her friend's mom had emergency surgery this week so with a part of the friend's mother intestine, there went plan B. Plan C usually consists of one of my relatives but they're all out of town camping (something I wish I was doing with them). Lastly, Plan D was foiled because of my pride. See, we have another set of parents-to-a-child-Chicken's-age friends but when I hinted to the mom that I had run out of arrangements for Olivia on Saturday, she did not offer her services. And because I hate to impose (and a little bit because I feel I'm "punishing" her), I didn't ask.
During past situations like this, I would just decide not to go out at all and stay home with the baby and bake yummy cookies and make stuff. But I need this. I need to have conversations with ADULTS. Conversations that do not include arguments about money, air conditioning, Halloween and Chicken's education. And. I need a drink. (I do not believe I've EVER said that in my entire life.) It's true, I don't drink. But I seem to have bit off a little more than my big mouth can chew and I just need to breathe. And maybe get a little tipsy. (Not so) sadly, I will end up talking about how smart and great Chicken is, what she's going to be for Halloween (a bride. Kind of creepy but I'll explain in another post), work and my love for Husband (in the form of nasty jokes and snide comments).

Such is my life. A life I chose with a great deal of thought. A life I am so proud of and grateful for. So I'm paying a beautiful 17 year old girl $50 to watch my child for a few hours so I can watch my ridiculously talented husband perform songs that were created in my bedroom.

I will definitely have toes in my nose tonight.

This Totally Made My Day!

Here's a small cheesecake slice of humor.
Allow me to preface my little story by telling you it is an ACTUAL true story. This really happened. Which is what makes it so damn funny.


Yesterday, Husband took Chicken to the studio with him. I decided to go to Target. I wasn't in the greatest mood; I had a bad day and just wanted to burn a little money.

I parked my car next to a family of 5; three adult women and two little girls; ages around 3 years old and 6 or 7 years old. The women were packing up the car with their bags and one was going to put the cart back to the cart depot. The 6/7 year old girl was trying to help her mother push the cart. She was really quite sweet about it. Her mother told her to:


"GITCHO ASS OUT DA SCREET"

I swear to God.

It's CHEETAHLICOUS!

We took Chicken to the Cheetah Girls concert this week at Large Concert/Sports Venue. Have you ever been in a giant arena with 10,000 girls between the ages of 5 and 15 year old SCREAMING in that girly shrill? No? You should try it. It's a guaranteed headache.

But we had so much fun! Chicken was singing and dancing, generally acting like a fool! (While I prayed for safety and quietly cried because the seats were frighteningly high up.) Plus, not only were the Cheetah Girls there, but HANNAH MONTANA was there too. DOUBLE THE FUN! I know I'm making fun but I shouldn't because I was dancing and singing as much as Olivia (I refuse to admit I was louder and more excited). I love those Cheetah Girls...and Hannah Montana is actually Miley Cyrus, daughter of former mullet head Billy Ray Cyrus. He doesn't have a mullet anymore and is really quite handsome. They're all very cute and promote a lot of good things for girls like girl power (growl power), independence, etc. Except that Raven is a little ghetto. But Raven only does the Cheetah Girl movies, not concerts. Anyway...you guys don't care. Most of you probably don't even know who the Cheetah Girls are. But you will...they're going to take the world by storm! (Ok, seriously...someone please take me to a grown up place.)

In more good things to say, I've come to an agreement with my current place of employment to finally work part time. I've been complaining and trying to work part time since Chicken started Kindergarten this year. As she gets older, her social and activity calendar becomes fuller and more difficult to manage. Working full time simply was not acceptable and I needed to accommodate Chicken and her growing life. But since we've already paid for after school care through October, my new 8am-2pm hours won't start until November 1st. Which is fine since cheerleading finishes next week and soccer doesn't start until the 1st week in November so things won't be so bad between now and then. But I'm so very, very happy about this.

In relation to my recent job news, please visit our very good friend, psychic medium, Robyn Z. (http://www.robynz.net/) She's been a personal friend of ours for many, many, many years and has provided support, insight and light for us. When Chicken started school this year, I was complaining (how unusual) to Robyn about how difficult it was for me to work full time and that I needed to work part time ASAP. She told me to be patient, that I would be working part time very soon and seemed to think I wouldn't have to leave my current job (which I love). She has also communicated some very important messages for me from people in the beyond. Through her, I often feel very close to my dad and others who've passed away. Seriously. She's as real as they come and so kind. Thanks Robyn, for all of your support over the years. WE LOVE YOU GUYS!

Moving on, I keep talking about the holidays. And Christmas has already consumed my thoughts. I am so freaking excited! I've started writing shopping lists in my head and am planning my tree theme and everything. It's sick. Robyn has a song called Myspace Anonymous for those addicted. Is there a Christmas Anonymous?

Husband had nasal surgery last week to repair a deviated septum (and by deviated septum, I do not mean nose job) and suck out some mucus from his sinuses. You're welcome for the graphic picture now embedded in your brain. It was outpatient surgery and aside from the fact that he's a big cry baby, he's fine. Still swollen and unable to breath but he'll live. Thank God for Afrin.

Back to Christmas, my sister is coming from New Hampshire in December right around my birthday (listen, I make no secret of my birthday, its Dec. 14th; I expect a lot of attention and mainly, gifts.)...well, she's not coming HERE, she's coming to Orlando. But all the better because not only will I be able to see my FAVORITE sister and her family, but we'll see Mickey during the holidays. It's a twofer!


Merry Christmas!

Frienemies

Husband & I sometimes like to have a drink at the Seminole Paradise (large shopping complex by day, clubs and bars by night) watch people. It's amazing. Who lets these girls go out looking like THAT? Who the hell lied to them? Did their friend take one look at them and go "Totally! That's what's going to get you laid tonight"? Sister, that "friend" is no friend! She's a frienemy! She wants YOU to look as bad as possible so no one looks at you and looks at her instead. Women suck...trust me. I used to know girls that only associated with other girls that were AT LEAST 10 lbs heavier than they. I once had a "best friend" that I kept around for so long because I knew I was cuter than she. See...even me, the Good Christian Brown has done it.

That's right. Even I have been a part of the FRIENEMIES!

Ladies: follow your instincts. If you think you may be able to see the dimples of cellulite through the second skin (oh, those are white pants?) then SO CAN EVERYONE ELSE! No, your mirror does NOT play tricks on you. It doesn't invent foundation lines on your face, wrinkles in your eyes, weight to your boobs and it certainly does not create cellulite in your thighs. Get over it, its there. Find a way to camouflage it.
And when all else fails, wear straight leg, black pants. Always works.

Just don't let the flab hang over the waistband. OK?

Taco Bell & The Homeless

Last night we went to buy Chicken a bunk bed.

This, of course (like everything else in my life), must be performed in steps. First, we go to Warehouse Store to get the bed. Today, we'll go back to get the two mattresses, Saturday, I'll buy the bedding and pillows. And finally Sunday, the bed will be built and I can finally sleep at night without an elbow in my ear.
We've had an on-going bunk bed/one full size bed/toddler bed debate for 2 years now. I have finally won the bed battle! I always win. I guess that's what happens when you're younger (and more beautiful) than your spouse.

But I digress. That's not why I'm writing today. Before we make the short trip to Warehouse Store, Husband is hungry and wants Taco Bell (he rambles about some greasy, nasty crispy wrap). Luckily for him, there is a Taco Bell in the shopping center where Warehouse Store is. Before we walk into Taco Bell, I see a homeless woman carrying a large BIG GULP-type mug...by large I mean 1000's of fluid ounces. She is peering through the windows and walks in before we do and I see her filling up her huge mug. A Taco Bell employee says to her "Hey stupid, you can't be fillin' your cup in here". The homeless woman ignores her and continues to fill up. 4 Taco Bell employees begin screaming obscenities at her, one looks as if she's going to jump over the counter and beat the homeless woman. I say to the angry employees, "We will pay for her drink". "That's not the point", very large, female employee says, "It's unsanitary for her to fill up her nasty cup in our fountain". The homeless woman looks at me and after filling up, walks out of the restaurant. The homeless woman's cup never actually touched any part of the fountain. Granted, her hands were dirty and she was pushing the Pepsi button but plenty of people who have dirty hands touch that button everyday and I've never seen anyone clean the fountains. Anyway, after a long lecture from very large, female employee regarding the issue of sanitation, I observe something in the back. Then I say, "The people back there touching my food aren't wearing gloves so I can't imagine cleanliness is a concern at this fine establishment".
At this point, Husband is mortified and angry. He thanks me for ruining his Taco Bell fantasy dinner and we walk out. He's been bitching about it since yesterday; about how I shouldn't get involved and he was really looking forward to the crispy wrap grease gordito (or whatever it was). "They have a point, who knows where that cup has been" he says. "God forbid that should be someone we know. She just wanted a drink!". He isn't the most compassionate man on earth. He rarely puts himself in another person's shoes for the sake of kindness. So we walked over to McDonald's and he grumpily swallowed a Big Mac.

Looking back on it, I guess it's a pretty funny story. But I'm still haunted by the vision of the humiliation the homeless woman suffered. I felt like the Taco Bell employees should remember that by one slip up of their job and it could easily be them simply seeking a sweet drink.
It could easily be anyone.

Could I Fit Up There?

Once, my friend Jessica asked me "I wonder if I could fit up there".
Or did I ask her that?


Anyway, it was many, many, many, many years ago and all this time later, I'm still wondering.

I wonder what it would have been like if I'd taken the left, not the right. I wonder what would have happened had I used minute rice instead of regular rice in dinner last night. I wonder how different my life would have been if he were still alive. I wonder if he knows how grateful I will forever be. I wonder what would happen if I quit my job to properly take care of my family. I wonder if I really, really tried, could I "fit in" or just sail through, faking it? I wonder if I stopped being so absorbed in what is proper and normal, would I become those things?

Today, I miss my dad. It has been nearly 5 years and while my life has changed for the better, it doesn't hurt any less. I was told there was another death in the family last week (distant relative) and I told my Grandmother that I still think of my dad every day. And that I have a reoccurring dream about him every few months. She thought it was weird and that I should have "forgotten". This man raised me when no one else wanted to and he should be forgotten?
With all of these (distant & near) relatives dropping like flies in the past few years, it makes me wonder more...

Am I getting older? Granted, most of these deaths were of older, sick people. Some nice, some not so much. I still feel so fortunate to have close to me my mom, grandparents and sister.

My dad: he was a good hearted, overwhelmed man who died because he never utilized the word "no".


Today, I am sad.

Easter & Babies

Pull up a seat. This may take a while.

I wish I could remember how old I was when I stopped believing in make believe. Things like the Easter Bunny, Santa, The Tooth Fairy, etc. I think (hope?) we have a good 2 years before we have an issue with Santa; and I hope we have a while before Chicken realizes the Tooth Fairy's bank account is in my name since she hasn't lost any teeth yet. However, this may be the last year for the Easter Bunny. He's just not believable. An overgrown bunny who gives out eggs and Easter baskets? And how come the basket he left me have essentially has the same toys & candy Mom made for my friends and cousins? These are the questions she is already starting to ask. And why does he leave the basket out before church but no eggs until AFTER church?

I am very sad. Our daughter is growing up. Last year I was OK with her growing up. It seemed everyone around us was having babies. And I LOVE BABIES! More than kids. Really! I don't really like kids. I mean, I like the kids we're close with (most of them) but I'm not crazy about random children. But babies...who doesn't love a nice, fat baby? Now, all the babies from last year are talking, walking toddlers. I loose interest around the 2nd birthday when they learn to utilize the word "NO" and discover their own independence and control. Nixie, one of "our" babies threw a cracker at me a few weeks ago. She wanted a cookie, I gave her a cracker and she straight threw it at me. And earlier in the week, she rolled her eyes at me!
I am starting to get used to the idea that we may not have another child in our family. I know I have been saying this for over a year now but I MIGHT be accepting this fact now. With the cost of housing and child care; not to mention a certain someone's (ahem) age; the window of opportunity is closing. We shall see.
Summer is almost here and I am looking forward to long Saturdays on the beach, whole weekends at water parks and dinner parties at our house. In the meantime, it is Spring. Chicken is more and more excited about Sunday and all it brings. Being a student at a Christan school, she actually learned about the true meaning of Easter, which only makes it that much more special.
Happy Easter & Passover

Myspace.com

I have come to this conclusion: I am ill suited for myspace.

I spent a little time searching for folks on myspace.com. I did a search for my high school, my hometown and random names I could remember from my past.
It's interesting to see what people have become in 10 years time. I found one friend who was very blah growing up and she's unbelievably beautiful now. I found someone else who still looks 15.
Anyway...I was a little disturbed. I probably came across 20 girls (women, I guess they are now) that I used to know "back in the day". I would say that near half are with or have child(ren). Now obviously, they are my age and HELLO! I have child(ren). However, it seems that these women's sites were inappropriate. One girl had a picture of her holding her daughter and it said "glassy eyes 420!" (doesn't CPS ever troll myspace?) and she spoke highly of lots of drinking and drugs. Another woman had a picture of herself peeing in a bathroom drunk and the next picture was of her son. And here was the really messed up part...I saw a picture of a woman and I SWEAR she was wearing a shirt that used to be mine. So wrong.

Maybe I am up on a soap box. Maybe I have high standards (wouldn't be the first time someone said that about me). Perhaps, even, I am slightly judgemental. It is my opinion that when you have a child, your own life stops. Don't get me wrong. I have the occasional girls night out and I try and go to ALL of Mr. Brown's local shows. And on very rare occasion, I have a couple of drinks.
But you're not allowed to dress up in "street-wear" and brag about your "activities" when you have children. You don't get to act like you're 16. Even if you are. You just don't get to have that much fun. Or at least you don't get to put it out there on myspace for the world (and jerks like me) to see.
I hope that in real life, these people have "normal" lives. I hope that they make cupcakes for their kids' school and are consumed by laundry and annoying husbands. (Sound familiar?) I hope they love and care for their children how children should be. I hope their myspace is just a front.

Anyway. I found this experiment to be...confusing. On one hand, I was glad to see so many of my old friends got out of PB County. On the other, I was sad to see how many were still there and would probably stay for the rest of their lives. It's funny how in 8 to 12 years, everyone is an extreme. They've either completely changed (for the good or bad) or they're exactly the same.
It was fun. Seeing old boyfriends, best friends and enemies. I sent emails to those I wanted to let know I was still alive (a lot of people had doubts) and told them how happy I was to see their happiness.

Lastly, I am grateful. For my life, for my family and for the hard times. Because no matter how hard they are, you wont see a picture of my boobs or hear/see me talk about how "crunked up" (I think this is slang for inebriated or otherwise intoxicated. Please correct me if I'm wrong) I was the other night. At least not on myspace. It's just not the place.

(HEY, I rhymed!!!!)