Adventures of Brown

A case of the blahs...

2008-09-18T08:46:00.002-04:00

Today is shaping up to be a pretty bad day. And it's only 8:47am. Nothing particularly horrible happened, you see; just a chain of events that are getting under my skin. It doesn't help that I appear to have awoken on the wrong side of the bed. Except there's only one port of entry and departure on our bed.
Maybe it's all the sleep I'm missing from these horrible and bizarre dreams I keep having.

We're having an especially judgemental and white-glove wearing family member over for dinner tonight and I have to pick up something to cook and take my mom to the grocery store, clean the house and oh, there's about 4974 things I need to do at school. That's annoying to begin with.
Then, when I dropped Olivia off at school, I was getting weird vibes from people there. Maybe it was just me.
Naturally, I walked into a pile of crap at work and had to get straight to it instead of easing in by reading blogs all morning.

I've written a Sincerely 'Fro post but the photos are on another computer so that will post later tonight. After I'm not so ornery. I hope.

They are of what you make...

2008-09-15T09:01:00.003-04:00

I keep having dreams that I'm having an affair. With the most random and sometimes repulsive people.

First, I had a dream that I was sneaking around with John McCain. Really? John McCain? That's the best my subconscious could come up with? Then, I had a dream that I was fooling around with the maintenance guy at my Mom's apartment complex. The man is nothing short of a troll and he really doesn't like me as a person.
How come I never get to dream about celebrity hunks like my boyfriend, George Clooney or even Bill Clinton?
Up next in my dreams: Former NY Governor Spitzer! It's that gross.

In related dream news; I'm trying to figure how to stop a reoccurring dream. For 8 years I've been dreaming about my childhood best friend. We didn't really leave off on bad terms; we just sort of stopped being friends. And while I made peace with that relationship long ago and feel nothing but positive feelings about that person now; clearly my subconscious has some unresolved issues with that relationship.
My dreams usually consist of sneaking around, doing bad things and running or hiding from people. Which would pretty much describe a day in our life circa 1997. My dreams featuring her are usually incomplete when I wake up and on more than one occasion, I've tried to force myself asleep and back into the dream just to have a conclusion but it's always futile. I guess that's consistent with the way we left things 8 years ago.
The point is, I wake up slightly distressed and sometimes sad. And after 8 years, I'm tired of it. Even though the logical resolution to this problem is to put closure to this old friendship but in waking life, I feel like I've got closure. Besides, I've never been one to follow logic. So how do I stop these annoying dreams? There must be a way.

Ok - here's the thing....

2008-09-04T23:53:00.003-04:00

My blog seems to be suffering from a slight case of schizophrenia. One minute I'm consistently writing about my life and family, the next I'm writing an organizing and craft blog and now she's turned into a hurricane blog. I like to call this being "well rounded".

Here's what I have to report: (I've got to get a job with Channel 7 News) Tropical Storm Hanna's outer bans (daymn - I'm fancy) are skimming us in South Florida. It's a little breezy with some good gusts and some scattered rain. Basically, a typical Winter day. (Oh, it's Summer?) Hanna is expected to go North and run into land somewhere along the Eastern coast. That's helpful.

Hurricane Ike? The flocker that's a Category four and churning away in the Atlantic? I can't really answer that question for you. The local news is constantly interrupting vital programming like Days Of Our Lives and People's Court for updates on the tracking of Ike. Their main message? We're in the middle of the 5 day Cone of Death but don't panic yet. Then, on their "Weather Blog", they go on and on about how the chances of an actual South Florida landfall for Ike is only 10% so don't run out and invest in Zephyrhills water or throw up your shutters yet. And when I stayed tuned in for the 11pm advisory tonight, they did a whole 10 minute segment from Home Depot about buying plywood and batteries and flashlights and water and you'd better be prepared now because Ike is a-comin' and we ought be scurred.

You can understand why I vacillate between ultimate panic and bright optimism.

I like to believe I'm a generally prepared resident of South Florida. I have a hurricane box that I pull out which contains batteries, flashlights, grill-safe cooking supplies and things of that nature. I keep a good stock of water all summer long and in the event that we're in the 5 day Cone of Death, I buy extra and usually include essentials like Starbucks Frappacino 4 packs and bacon.
In the event that we end up in the middle of the 3 day cone and Ike remains a BFH (Big Flippin' Hurricane), I'm coming to terms with the fact that I will evacuate. Not because they'll make me but because I have no desire to relive Wilma - let alone anything worse. Where am I going? I don't know - due North somewhere - like Hanna.

I'm either going to be up to my ears in water and tuna fish or feet don't fail me now to Kentucky. I'll let you know.

Rut Roh!

2008-09-03T08:57:00.003-04:00

The good news is Hurricane Hanna is not expected to make landfall in South Florida this week. The bad news is, Tropical Storm Ike is expected to be a hurricane by Saturday and make landfall somewhere around South Florida. On Sunday. Which is Olivia's birthday and when we're scheduled to have a pool party. Last night, I sat Olivia down and discussed the possibility of having to postpone her party for one week - until the following Sunday. The news was nothing short of devastating and Earth shattering to an almost 8 year old girl. I know that she understands the meaning of postpone and certainly can compute the concept but you'd think we just told her she can't have a party, her puppy just died and I'll never let her wear knee-high socks again.
This is the peak of hurricane season and we've really been quite lucky in the past to have never had to cancel or postpone her birthday due to a hurricane or even inclement weather. Even though I've rolled the dice every year for the past 7 years and held her parties outdoors.

In addition to Hanna and Ike, Josephine is right behind although so far, it looks like it's going to stay out into the Atlantic and not threaten any US Coastlines.

Everyone in South Florida sort of gets this overwhelming feeling of exhaustion around this time of year. We're tired of our weathermen (and women), we're tired of schools closing, we're tired of standing in line at Publix for water and ice and we're really sick of "near misses" and "lucking out". That's not to say that we're not generally grateful when a storm ignores us, it's just that we always seem to be within the "Cone of Uncertainty" (or as I like to call it - the "Cone of Death") and have to prepare. Not only is it unbearably hot right now but there's always Hurricane Drama. No wonder why we're always so cranky.

What Would You Do?

2008-09-01T01:22:00.002-04:00

Three years ago, Hurricane Wilma ripped through our County and destroyed many things in it's path - one of which was my office. Our home - which is only 8 years old and was built with very strict building code - shook with such horror that my picture frames were crooked after all was said and done. I can remember when the worst of it blew through and I called family members who were 40 minutes away and warned them of what was to come. For months, I had nightmares of the whistling of the wind and banging of my shutters. I will never forget how terrifying it was to live through those moments. Hurricane Wilma was only a Category 1 when it made landfall. Since then, I have vowed to never, ever stay put if anything greater than that ever threatened us.
This weekend, my thoughts have been consumed by Hurricane Gustav, it's Category 3 status (for now) and it's likely path to New Orleans.
I asked Danny what he would do if we were the target of Gustav or another hurricane of it's capacity - would he stay or flee? Naturally, I answered before he could - I would run, run, run so far and so fast that heads would spin. I would drive to Dallas or New York or even Vermont; all places we have family, if I had to but under no circumstances would I stay here. At first reaction, Danny said he'd go, too but then changed his mind and said he'd stay. Excuse me? He said he'd want to protect our home and things from destruction and most of all, looters. He's always so paranoid about robbers and looters. I told him he could stay if he wanted to but he'd be alone. He tried to convince me with promises of beer and my Mom but I'm pretty sure my Mom would be in the passenger seat of the truck as we drove far North.

I take this opportunity to ask: What would you do in a situation like the fine people in New Orleans? Would you be like me and run as fast as the wind or would you be more like Danny and stay to protect your property?

As Hurricane Gustav roars towards the Gulf, I join the entire Nation in positive thoughts and prayers tonight.

Well, THAT was an anti-climatic ending!

2008-08-31T01:42:00.005-04:00

So - only three people responded to my Great Card Giveaway of 2008 so all three people get cards. Two of whom have already received cards from me. If you're new here or just usually lurk and would like a card or two, please leave a comment or send me an email and I'll gladly share. That's how many cards I have.

I did some shopping in preparation for the long weekend which I fully intend on spending by making more cards. I felt like it took a long time to make a set of 4 so I decided to actually track it to see just how long it took. Turns out it takes two hours to make a set. That's a lot of hours! (My husband is going to send me a nasty email when he calculates the hours. That time could have been spent washing dishes.)

Six more hours were spent today. Take a look:

This was an adorable polka dot scrap paper I had. I was slightly distracted while making this set but when I came back to take the photo, I was pleasantly surprised by how they came out.

It's hard to see in the photo but this paper is pearlized (because I am fancy). There was a lot of loose glitter used on this set. I'm not sure how I'll ever part with any of these cards.

(Do not pay any attention to the bottom right photo which is upside down. Ahem.) This was a fun set. All the paper came from the same book so it was super easy to coordinate accent colors. I was pleased that I had embellishments on hand that went well with the theme.

Thanks to the (mere three) wonderful participants in this year's Great Card Giveaway!

And I don't even mention the DNC & Barack Obama's Speech

2008-08-29T10:36:00.003-04:00

I've never discussed politics here for several reasons; the first being while I watch the news and consider myself a person who votes with knowledge, I don't know a lot about politics. The second reason is it's controversial. And I'd rather have people talking about me because of my exposed 7 year old boobies than my stance on politics. Simply for the record, I will divulge that I am a Democrat and think Hilary Rodham Clinton was robbed.
When it comes to local politics, I know even less than I do on a national level; which really is a shame because we all know it starts at home. However, when it comes to education and the way it's run in my community, I'm in the "need - to - know" category. (As in: I need to know everything.)
My child goes to a privately funded and operated charter school within the Broward County School District. I chose to send my child to a charter school for so many reasons - I cannot possibly list them all but public school here, in my opinion, is less than adequate. I was raised in public school and despite my klassy disposition and brighter than the stars intelligence (what? Stop laughing - it wasn't that funny.) , it did me no good. In addition to my own experience with public education, I've watched many of my family's and friend's children struggle and fail to thrive within the public school system.

Located just South of Broward County is Miami Dade County and their school district; the 4th largest district in the country. Miami Dade County School District's (MDCSD) superintendent is Dr. Rudy Crew. Let me tell you, Dr. Crew is in a heaping load of hot shit. Recently, the state's capital handed down educational budget cuts of historic proportions - mostly due to a "Penny Tax" which promises to lower property taxes by $200 per home over the next 10 years. These budget cuts were a serious problem for MDCSD because they were already up to their ears in debt since bringing on Dr. Crew in 2004. This week, Dr. Crew was asked by the board to balance the district's budget and come up with a plan that everyone could agree on. However, during this balance project, Dr. Crew and his team figured out that the school district was not $66 million dollars in debt as previously thought but $88 million dollars in debt. His reasoning for the astounding debt? He "over-spent" - that's what he says. Here are a few highlights from his "plan" to balance the budget:
1. Eliminated 254 teachers who are part of the bilingual programs (Spanish and Creole).
2. Eliminating 88 career specialists.
3. Cut paid Christmas recess days for teachers and staff.
4. Eliminate assistant principals for community school programs.
5. Require administrators to substitute teach one day a month.
6. Eliminate 24 audio / visual clerk positions.
7. Take 22 million dollars from the district's "Rainy Day Fund".

What he did not suggest was reducing or forfeiting his $700,000 salary. He's willing to cut hundreds of jobs in addition to the hundreds of police officers, janitors, cafeteria staff and teachers who were already cut over the summer; but he's not willing to take a pay cut for himself.
How do you propose cutting teachers who are part of the bilingual program in a county where 70 percent of the student body's first language is not English? As for cutting paid Christmas recess days for teachers and staff; I would expect Dr. Crew will be included in that plan, too. But he wont.
My biggest gripe is taking $22 million dollars from the "Rainy Day Fund". This withdraw will leave only 4 million dollars in the fund. For the entire year. For the entire county. Which is the 4th largest district in the US. When Hurricane Wilma ravaged through Broward County three years ago, Broward County School District lost $2 million dollars in food from the lunch program alone. That money was replaced by their "Rainy Day Fund". There are three tropical storms in the Atlantic as I type and we're not even half way through hurricane season yet. To say that MDCSD would be extremely venerable with a mere $4 million dollars in the fund is a gross understatement. The slightest emergency, need or unexpected funding would leave the district completely, flat broke. Living - on - the - street - begging - for - money - on - the - side - of - the - highway - broke.

Even though my child is not a ~~victim~~ student of MDCSD, I consider myself an advocate for equitable and decent education for all children. I'm simply blown away by the enormous insubordinate and neglect this Superintendent has shown this board, the county and poor souls who attend MDCSD.

All I have to say is: God Bless Charter Schools.

Sincerely 'Fro Me to You - The One Where I'm Naked

2008-08-27T23:59:00.000-04:00

Kristen from We Are THAT Family operates this great Blog Carnival.
To view my entire archives of Sincerely 'Fro posts, click here.

Yep. That's me and my 7 year old boobies. And we're naked. I was exactly Olivia's age in this photo and where I come from, we don't do non-essentials like sunscreen or shirts.

This day is so vivid in my mind; it could have happened yesterday. We were moving from Florida to Dallas, TX and this was our going away party. It was held at a public park and there were lots of trees that I climbed on and damn, it was hot. Folks of the male persuasion were shirtless and I wanted to be, too. What? It was hot. I remember the kids were playing with water - water balloons, water guns, something like that. My shorts were soaked and I wanted to take those off, too.
Unfortunately for you - my Sincerely 'Fro readers - my mother had the sense to make me leave them on.

Thanks for paying me a visit - please scroll down for a special handmade card giveaway!

Great Card Giveaway of 2008

2008-08-27T22:16:00.005-04:00

It turns out I've made more cards than I know what to do with so I'm going to give some of them away. Please read below at the several posts dedicated to card making or click here for the craft archives. Leave a comment on this post with your favorite set to be entered into the Great Card Giveaway of 2008. Three winners will be chosen by random draw this Sunday (8/31) morning and announced the same day.

Good luck!

Here are the most recent cards:

I really had fun with the loose glitter on this one - it's hard to see but it's everywhere. I was disappointed to see there was a glare on the bottom card from the flash but it's the same paper as the top right. There's only 3 in this set because I used one.

This is the Paisley set. Most of the accents come from glitter and ribbon with this set. It's difficult to see but the bottom right card has S.W.A.K in green glitter.

My favorite argyle paper. Like the paisley, there's a lot of ribbon with some flowers and more sparkle.

My method of recovery

2008-08-24T22:44:00.004-04:00

I'm pleased to report that I've pretty much made a full recovery from Bronchitis Fest 2008. I give some credit to Zithromax but the rest of credit goes to crafting. I've spent most of my weekend laying around the house, cooking and - my new favorite thing to do - making cards. Here are some pictures.

The Aloha stamp was a Michael's $1 find and the paper came from the $1 scrapbooking section of Joann's. I love this set because it's a little more masculine than any of the others.

This paper came from the $1 store. I was pretty excited when I found scrapbooking supplies there and was all set to make an awesome set but I feel like I lost my groove somewhere after the first card. (Which explains why there isn't a 4th.)

This is a very funky set and my first use of loose glitter on cards.

This paper came from the $1 scrapbooking section at Joann's. I love the color combinations.

This might be my favorite set so far. It's hard to see in the photos but there is a lot of glitter throughout the paper. The card in the far right hand side is for my grandfather who turned 76 years old today.

I promise to have a decent blog post this week and Sincerely 'Fro Thursdays will return, too!

We now returned to our regularly scheduled programming (sort of)

2008-08-22T00:36:00.004-04:00

I know I missed my Thursday Sincerely 'Fro post and I'm upset about it but it's nice to be missed, really. Thank you to everyone who sent me comments and emails with concern to both my disappearance (thank you, bronchitis!) and the hurricane. Information on Bronchitis Fest 2008 can be found here. As for the hurricane, it was nothing much to cry about - thank the Lord - it did drop a lot of much needed rain all across the state and has caused some flooding but we are fine here in the South.

While I've been sick, I've spent any coherent time making cards. Because it made me forget that my lungs were trying to escape via my trachea. Here are the photos.

These were my second set - none of the cards match other than the color scheme but I love them.

There was originally 4 but I used one today. As you can see, I'm lacking embellishments for the cards but I'm trying to make due until my collection expands.

This is my favorite set so far - I'm not sure if the colors come out great in the photos but it's pink, maroon, black, white and silver with glitter.

I hit a groove with this last set.

As I continue to recover (oh! the drama!), I'll make more and post the pictures.

Drywall dust made a liar out of me.

2008-08-21T22:23:00.002-04:00

Remember when I inhaled 5 hours worth of drywall dust? Turns out that stuff causes bronchitis! And when I'm plagued with an illness such as bronchitis - where I sleep less than 3 hours per night, spend the rest of my time coughing uncontrollably and crying from the chest and neck pains - I take medicine.

Here's the MasterCard version.

Spackle putty and sander: $8
Materials to make artwork: $25
Prescription Z-pack antibiotic: $20
Prescription cough syrup with codeine: $10
Prescription asthma inhaler: $38
Trip to ER: $100
Having a husband who'll pay for all of those things and hold your hand while you're crying hysterically when having an IV inserted and threaten to take a picture for your blog: priceless.

Halls Cough Drops are the devil

2008-08-17T02:32:00.000-04:00

I wonder if cough drops contain caffeine? Because after a bag of them, I'm pretty awake - regardless of the fact that I feel like I'm on my deathbed. Also - the cough drops? Not helping so much. I digress...

Tabitha @ Roots & Wings has generously been tutoring me both via her blog and email on card making. She makes the most gorgeous cards - I wish I had the amount of talent in her pinkie finger in my whole being.

Here's my card-making debut:

Generally, there would be 4 cards in a matching set but I got really tired and lost all interest and creativity by the 4th card so I decided to do without.

Up close:

On the inside, each of them look like this:

I feel pretty good about how they came out. My supplies collection is new and very small so I'm slightly limited but I'm excited about expanding and creating more cards.

***The hurricane status remains the same - it's either going to hit the East Coast (where I live) or the West Coast of Florida sometime between Monday and Tuesday. We'll know more tomorrow, hopefully but in the meantime, I'm pretty prepared for the worst case scenario. Now if only I could get Danny to get with the program and put the shutters up on the windows and doors. (sigh)

MY 100th POST!!

2008-08-17T02:29:00.000-04:00

New friends - as promised, I'm answering all your questions in honor of my 100th post. I know the rule is to post 100 facts about yourself but I'm a rebel, dammit - so the 100 facts will be my 101st post.
This was so much fun - thanks for participating!

Kim @ Ramblings of Kimberly:
When you do finally get knocked up with another gorgeous child... are you wanting a girl or a boy? Why?
I can't believe I'm going to admit this but I've become one of those people who said "I don't care what I have - as long as it's healthy". It's so cliche but that's because it's true. For honesty's sake, I will say that lately I've been leaning towards wanting a boy. Because boys love their mothers and pre-teen daughters are brats.
When you first started your period...what happened? were you freaked out? did it happen at the most inopportune time?
I started my period the day OJ Simpson ran from the cops in his white Bronco. It was also my Grandma's birthday. I remember being really, really tired and sleeping all day. My mother was so glued to the television that she made my dad go and buy "supplies". Bless his sweet heart. I felt very annoyed by the whole experience because everyone was making such a big deal about it and also very relieved because it was over with.

Jennifer @ Extreme House Wifeing:
What is your idea of the perfect day?
The perfect day would have to be at least 48 hours long because there's never enough time for me to do everything I want. It would consist of spending a good part volunteering, more time with Olivia doing really girly stuff, cleaning my entire house without becoming bored or exhausted and it would end with me getting knocked up.

Jennifer @ Dust Bunny Hostage:
Do you think Martha Stewart deserved what she got?
I know this was posted as a joke but I'm going to answer it anyway because I actually have an opinion about this. (Shocking.) (shut up) I have been a Martha Stewart fan since before it was cool to like Martha Stewart. I get what the negativity is towards her - she's pretty pretentious and kind of a fraud (we all know her "people" do everything and she takes the credit). But she's done so much in her life and has been successful at almost everything she's done - how can I not strive to be more like her? Besides - I like good things, too. With that said, I strongly feel that the only reason she was treated the way she was is because she's a woman and that's never okay. Katt Williams said it best when he said "Who can blame a bitch for gettin' a tip that her money was about to be gone and then takin' it all out?".
What is that THING that you want your kiddos to remember about you one day?
I want my children to remember that I was their best advocate their whole lives. I'm proud to say that I'm not the type of mother who puts her own insecurities and issues ahead of the child's best interest. I want them to know that throughout their entire lives; education, relationships, justice and everything in between, that I shouted the loudest and fought harder than anyone else for them. Although they'll probably just remember I shouted the loudest.
Is your life more Shakespeare of Dr. Seuss?
My childhood fantasy was to have a Shakespeare life but fortunately, God gave me a Dr. Seuss life. A lot of humor and silliness is required.
What is THE BEST thing that blogging has given you?
I think I am not unlike most other "mommy-bloggers" (Is there a more PC term for this?) who feel that blogging gives me a sense of self. In addition, it keeps my brain working - I'm constantly challenging myself here. Most of all, I've "met" some very kind people who've been so helpful and supportive during those not-so-Dr. Seuss-moments.
(PS - I would like to give a special HOLLA out to Jennifer @ Dust Bunny Hostage for asking the most questions!)

Mrs. N @ All That Naz
If you were a crayola crayon...what color would you be?
Gosh - I have no idea. I would just be a saturated shade of LOUD pink and it would be called SOPHIA. (Suggestions can be emailed directly to Crayola.com.)

Carianne @ Confessions of a Middle Aged Mess:
How do you think having a deaf mother influenced your life positively and negatively?
Leave it up to my sister to ask the deepest and most difficult question to answer. I've thought long and hard about my answer and have decided to answer in as much honesty as possible. Growing up with a deaf mother was incredibly hard and unless you've actually lived in those shoes, it's almost indescribable. The loneliness I felt was constant and I'm not sure if it's because my house was silent or if it's because I was an only child but it was profound. Naturally, there were perks like turning the music up as loud as I wanted and sneaking the phone to talk at all hours of the night. At this time, I've yet to gain proper perspective on the positive vs. negative impact but I know that my mother did the best that she could with what she had and that has forced me to do better in my own life. Which is what I think any mother would want.

Tabitha @ Roots & Wings
Did you name your dolls/Barbies as a kid?? What were their names??
I wasn't really a Barbie kind of girl - most of my dolls were of the Cabbage Patch form and they all came with their very own names. I usually chose Cabbage Patches based on their names (which you could see on the box) and never changed them.

The Evening Quickie

2008-08-15T21:23:00.004-04:00

(Alternatively titled: Holy crap, I haven't been this sick since I was 9 years old - why, oh why God, do you smite me?)

I'm sick. I'm not really sure with what yet and no, I haven't gone to the doctor and no, I haven't taken any medicine besides Advil. I don't really do medicine because I'm a Scientologist. Just kidding. There are lots of reasons why but I only tell that information to people after I've slept with them. I'm going to get a little descriptive with my symptoms here so if you're squeamish to mucous, snot and other questionable liquids leaking from my head, I suggest you stop reading after the sentence before this one.

My sinuses are clogged with a lot of stuff - some of it I can blow out, others that I can feel dripping into my throat. I'm trying to avoid swallowing at all costs as to avoid an Olympic Event of Mucous Puking. I am also coughing but not an extraordinary amount and I"m not really getting anything up from my lungs. I have the weirdest sore throat, too. It doesn't hurt to swallow but it hurts to spit or cough. The good news is, I can still talk and eat copious amount of Twinkies and the such. The bad news is the Twinkies and such taste like boogers.

There is a hurricane coming. On Monday. Which is the 1st day of school. And I haven't been the grocery store for water and other essentials yet. In case you're wondering if I have any plans for tomorrow, I will be standing in line at Publix tomorrow for seventeen hours waiting in line to pay for those water and other essentials. Maybe I can cough all over everyone and they'll let me skip line. (I really doubt it - this is South Florida and we are ruder than the fine folks in NYC.)

This is officially my 99th post and it's not too late to ask your questions. I will be posting the final questions on #100 whenever I'm feeling better and / or Florida Power & Light restores my power after the hurricane. Whichever comes first.

*Edited to add - because when it rains, baby, it pours in the Brown Household, our a/c isn't working now. And it's 89 degrees at 10 o'clock at night. I suppose that's really quite convenient, though, seeing as how we won't have power pretty soon anyway.

Sincerely 'Fro Me To You - The Mommy and Me Portraits Disaster

2008-08-13T23:01:00.004-04:00

Kristen @ We Are THAT Family hosts this Blog Carnival posted every Thursday.

To read all of my Sincerely 'Fro posts, click here.

I started running low on Sincerely 'Fro pictures so I raided my mother's photo albums and I'm a little bit sorry I did. There are copious amounts of awfully bad and embarrassing photos - enough to last a Sincerely 'Fro lifetime. For this week's entry, though, I've decided to do it up right with Mommy and Me photos.

Here are the runner ups for Best of Worst Mommy and Me Photo:

This was my mom and me in 1982. I don't know how long my mother saved every bit of money available in order to afford this picture but I'm fairly sure it took my whole life of 6 months. It gets last place in the Best of Worst because I really do adore this picture. In fact, to this day, it hangs in it's original frame in my home.

Aside from the obvious hair issues I'm having here, I chose this as #3 because of the story behind the photo. My mother tells me she will never forgive me for ruining this picture. I don't remember any of this but her version is that immediately before this photo was taken, I was in impossible mode (ahem - again) and tortured my poor mother to tears. I'm pretty sure I wasn't completely at fault - being 9 years old and all - but she's never let me live it down. Let it go, Mom. Let it go.

I think I was around 13 when this picture was taken and I know that I'm wearing my mom's dress. By the look on my mom's face, I probably ruined this photo shoot, too. By this time, my mom was slightly (and I mean slightly) better off financially and so we classed it up and had these taken at Olan Mills (before they were in Kmarts). You may be wondering why this photo only placed 2nd and how is it possible that I had worse hair than the botched bangs (which I did myself) but continue reading...

Not only did we wear matching dresses and you can see the baby powder on her chest (she still does that) but the hair. Oh - the hair. This photo is in the true spirit of Sincerely 'Fro. When I pulled this picture out, my mom told me another story. She said that I begged to have this hair because it matched hers. Well, Mom is getting a little older these days and my memory seems to be a little sharper than hers and let me tell you - I did NOT beg to have this hair. I did not take myself the beauty salon at 8 years old and pay for a perm (a perm!). I also did not sit on the toilet seat of our bathroom and blow dry and curl and use 3 bottles of hairspray for the bangs. No, Mother, I did not. Besides, the proof is in the dress - she bought the matching dresses so it's evident that she was behind the very, very bad matching hair.

I want that pretty recycled one Dooce featured yesterday

2008-08-12T23:24:00.003-04:00

I really need to get a small notebook to carry around because over the past few days, I've thought of some funny blog topics and even some hilarious sentences to go with them. Except I forgot them all and you're stuck with this hodge-podge of my life for this week.

While I was kissing and tickling Olivia, I told her I love her more than anything else in the world and she's my #1. She was very pleased with this information but her response was less than impressive (at least it was for me). "You're my number two. Daddy is my number one." This is why I want a boy next time.

My sleeping patterns are so jacked up this week. I'm writing it off to Aunt Flo but I need to resume to my regularly scheduled programming soon before I go insane.

Olivia goes back to school this Monday (hallelujah) but there is still so much I need to do at school, it's frightening. I'm off from work on Friday and that happens to be the same day as Open House. I hope I can spend endless hours there this week or else I'll never be ready in time.

My kitchen is a mess and I'm not trying to be facetious. The fish bowl is so dirty, poor Tommy the Beta cannot see out of it. The laundry is piled up to the ceiling and I haven't decided when there will be time to chip away at it. And that bathroom has that smell again.

It has rained every single day this Summer. I know it's South Florida so it's expected to rain a lot in the summer but seriously - this is enough. I've only been in the pool once and that's really disappointing. I'm hoping for a better weekend this weekend because I cannot go to the first day of school all pale.

Danny has agreed to let me paint the dining room wall whatever color I want. This is a huge victory in our home but now I can't decide what color I want. He doesn't care, as long as I leave him out of it but I need him to come with me to pick out paint colors.

Speaking of Danny, he recently insulted my artwork on the living room wall. My feelings were really hurt and I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I can do to improve the situation. I had a EUREKA! thought today and when I suggested it, he was very confused and told me he loved the wall with the quotes and why did I want to change it? I reminded him of his harsh criticism from the other day and he laughed and said "that's just what we do. We hurt each other's feelings. Some people buy each other presents and give nice cards - we throw insults." I haven't really resolved how I feel about this but if you know my husband, it was a sweet thing for him to say. Like the time he told me that "you don't give away a Rolls Royce just because it has a couple of scratches and dents" when I asked him if he would ever leave me.

I'm not sure if I'm coming down with a cold (in the middle of August) or if the all the drywall dust I took in last weekend has had an adverse effect on my respitory system but man, I've got a sore throat.

I've started my 100th post but have post-dated it. I'm glad to say that I've answered all of your questions with complete honesty. It's not too late to ask questions, though. Just leave a comment here with your question and I'll include it with #100.

The sin quiz

2008-08-12T22:39:00.003-04:00

Tabitha @ Roots & Wings posted this quiz. I don't usually participate but I was curious about my results. Tabitha, looks like I'm going to hell way before you are.

Greed:	Medium
Gluttony:	High
Wrath:	Medium
Sloth:	High
Envy:	Medium
Lust:	Very Low
Pride:	High

The Seven Deadly Sins Quiz on 4degreez.com

PS. I'm pretty offended that all of my volunteer work has not offset my sins by very much. It's a good thing I like what I do. Also - I didn't know that "sloth" meant lazy.

I didn't know we were a part of THAT family!

2008-08-11T08:11:00.002-04:00

Kristen @ We Are THAT Family invites everyone to write about how their family is THAT family. This is my first official submission to this weekly and boy, it's a good one.

I've recently been telling the horrors of Brown Re-decorating episodes 1 thru a million but in order to do this story justice, I have to re-tell some points.

Because we are THAT family, I'd been using thumbtacks to hang precious family portraits on the wall. And because my husband only married into THAT family, he insisted we use spackle to cover the holes instead of say, toothpaste. He went to work, I couldn't wait and so I proceeded to apply the spackle with my gloved hands - it was not a good job. Each thumbtack hole had about half an inch of spackle and the hole wasn't even covered. He said he'd help me spackle but he took a nap first - I bet you can predict the next part - I couldn't wait. Using a .50 cent foam sanding block, I went at that spackle for five hours. By the time Danny woke up, my entire house (and by entire I really mean from one end to the other) was covered in drywall dust. This was including our brand new TV and entertainment center but was not limited to areas such as my hair.

While I was in the shower scrubbing my skin raw and washing my hair times six, I heard screaming. This is not unusual for my family. (I guess that should have been my first clue that I was part of THAT family.) Olivia runs into the bathroom like a crazed lunatic is chasing her with weaponry and with her shrieks are giggles. "What's wrong?" I said. "dfsdfjleurewiouqpc" she answered. Huh? Oh, that's all the shampoo blocking my line of hearing. "Daddy farted on me and he's going to do it again and it really stinks." Sigh. My first instinct was correct - a crazed lunatic chasing her with weaponry.

As she's escaping out the 2nd bathroom door I hear that scream - a blood curdling scream that can only come from a small child, usually a girl - when she's really hurt.

Picture this: I am in the shower with so much shampoo on my head that more of it has dripped into my eyes, nose and ears than it has cleaned my hair. I cannot see, hear or smell (thank God for the last sense lost) but my child is screaming. "WHAT'S WRONG?"

She slammed her finger into the door as she was making her big getaway from the FartDaddy.

So, friends. I admit - I did not know that we are part of THAT family but it's true. When your daughter gets hurt while running away from her father who's farted on her and threatens to do it again; there's no denying it.

Art Projects - You can do it!

2008-08-10T23:16:00.007-04:00

When we last left you, I told you all about my Organize THIS! project which involved crafty thing such as creating my very own artwork. Here are the details, photos and instructions.

First up are the Quote Canvases I made; they went in the main wall in my living room.

Like this: (Digression: I apologize in advance for my truly poor photography skills. It's embarrassing, really.)

This was so simple - anyone can do it. I purchased three 16x20 pre-streched canvas and painted them in pretty colors with yummy names like Robins Egg Blue, Plum and Carmel Candy. I would suggest purchasing a whole bottle of paint for each canvas as the Robins Egg Blue and Plum took several coats of paint. After they were dry, I hand-painted some famous quotes by my favorite back-in-da-day celebrities. Since the canvas was painted a solid color, mistakes were easily fixed with a little bit of touching up.

Here's how they came out:

Usually, I am very particular about everything being perfect but there was something about the whimsy of my less-than-perfect cursive that gave this art it's charm. (Olivia has been dying to be a part of this blog so her contribution to this post is her peace sign in the first photo.)

The monogram pieces were so easy that I'm going to make mass amounts of them and give them away as Christmas gifts this year.

I purchased three 8x10 flat canvases and painted them a glossy green. It's sort of a cross between Lime Green and Green Apple. I chose a glossy paint because it reflects nicely without being over-dramatic. Then, in the largest size of my favorite fonts, I printed our initials - D, S and O to use as a template. I used scrapbooking paper that I purchased with the paint so all the colors would go and traced and cut out the templates. I simply used Elmer's school glue (because it's what I had on hand) to place the initials on the canvas. I would probably use better glue when I make them for loved ones, though.

This next part of the project was my favorite! It was so fun I hope my friends and family ask me to make one for them, too. Here's where I used this piece:

And here it is up close and proper:

I used a 4th 16x20 canvas and painted it in glossy black. This time I chose a glossy paint because of the contrast it provided against the flat paper. Next, I chose 3 different scrapbooking papers all in coordinating colors but different patterns. Using a cup as a template, I traced circles onto the paper. With the squares and leaves, I did not focus on a specific part of the paper but because the circles and dots paper was so unique, I chose a specific part to cut out. I played with the circles for a while before I glued them with more Elmer's.

This week at Michaels and A.C. Moore, the canvas is 40% off. I'm going to purchase a larger canvas for my bedroom and do something else crafty with scrapbooking paper. (Scrapbooking paper is 2 for $1 at Michaels, too.)

If you try any of these ideas or have another art project to share, please post in your blog and leave a comment here to share!

Organize THIS! Re-organizing Walls

2008-08-10T22:30:00.010-04:00

Every Sunday I post a new organizing project that I've completed this week in hopes to not only force myself but to inspire you. If you post an Organize THIS! on your blog, please link back here and don't forget to leave a comment to share.

This week was a multi-tasking project; not only did I re-organize several walls and purge them of much needed clutter but I crafted my very own artwork, too.

This is the main wall in my living room opposite the entertainment center. As you can see, it was a shrine to Olivia and was in serious need of help.

All of these pictures were removed and relocated (more on that later). Unfortunately, because when we do it, we do it big; we had to spackle all of the existing holes (aprx. 7 million and four). And by we I mean me because I was too impatient to wait for Danny to help me.

As usual, I killed an ant hill with a stick of dynamite and the result was this:

I thought a couple of swipes with the sanding block would fix it up right good. Except what you cannot see in the picture is that each of those patches had about half an inch of spackle. And I was sanding by hand. For 5 hours. Not only did I break my arm (not really but still) but my entire home now looks like a construction site from all the white dust. Also, Danny is really mad at me. (Sorry, babe!)

Once we were done throwing things at each other (kidding - maybe), I could hang the new artwork I crafted myself.

I left Danny's head in the picture on purpose because I wanted to show the permanent fixtures in our living room. As you can see, the sanding job was not my best work. But that wall has to be re-painted soon anyway so I'm really, really trying not to let it bother me. (More details on this and the other craft projects I did will follow this week.)

But wait! Where did those pictures go of that gorgeous family, you ask. Not to worry, they've merely been re-located to the entry hallway.

Here's what that wall looked like before:

This is how I've kept this space since we moved here 6 years ago. It functioned but it was time for a change.

Here's what it looks like now:

Close - ups:

This, so far, has been the most creative project I've taken on in my home. It was a lot of fun but did you know that you have to wash your hair six times in order to remove all the drywall dust? I also predict that I will have white boogers for the next three years.

PS. This is my 93rd post. In celebration my upcoming 100th post, I'm asking all of my new blog friends to post a comment asking me a question. All questions will be answered honestly in my 100th post.

Blog Etiquette and That Game We're Playing

2008-08-07T22:43:00.003-04:00

Remember when I told you all it was my 96th post and that for my 100th post I wanted to answer questions that all of you, my new friends, asked me?
Um, yeah.
I thought it was my 96th post because Blogger told me so. But they were counting my drafts - which I was not. So, THIS is actually my 92nd post. Which, really - is great news because it means there's more time for you to submit your questions!
I ask (ahem - beg) all of you who visit to leave a comment asking me a question. The more random, the more personal, the funnier - the better.

Speaking of my 100th post. I found out today that it's Blog Tradition to post 100 facts about yourself (or something) in honor of your 100th post. Well, I've never been one to follow the rules and I'm sure as hell not going to start now. I'll post my 100 facts as my 101st post. TAKE THAT BLOGOSPHERE! (It's really quite sad how happy the slightest rebellion makes me.)

Know what else I learned about blogging today? That you're supposed to ask permission before you add someone to your blog roll. Rut-roh, Shaggy. I haven't asked anyone for any kind of permission. I feel pretty bad but not bad enough that I'm willing to go back and ask permission after the fact. But if you're on my blog roll and don't want to be, let me know and I'll gladly remove you. I will also stop reading your blog and possibly tell everyone about how rude you are. Just kidding. Maybe.

Uncle Roger

2008-08-07T10:03:00.000-04:00

My Uncle Roger died last week. For 10 years, he fought the good fight against cancer; throughout random places in his body. I am pleased to tell you all that cancer did not beat him, he beat it; even if he died as a result. I really think he would like that we think of him in this way.

Before I go on to tell you more about Uncle Roger and the good fight, I should preface it with some background in the crazies (ahem - family). My grandmother was a divorcee in the 60's living in Brattleboro, VT with 4 children - two deaf, one with serious emotional needs and the cutest little boy who ever lived. Across the Connecticut River in Walpole, NH, my grandpa had just lost his wife shortly after she gave birth to their 6th child. She left him with a drunken teenage boy, two wild and loose teenage girls, another pre-teen boy, another girl with uncontrollable hair and of course, a colicky newborn. My grandpa had a good job, was responsible and had an ass-load of kids. My grandma; with 4 kids of her own, didn't mind 6 more and could make a beef stew like no body's business. They wed and piled all 10 of their children into a great farm house on a nice piece of land. Grandpa worked for John Deere, Grandma raised the kids, sewed dresses for the girls, slacks for the boys and only slightly struggled with what was an unusual situation during that time in America. But the kids got along and there was enough money to survive and the biggest battles were held over who got to use the only bathroom first in the morning. I imagine their land; on a hillside in Walpole, NH at the end of a windy road, was fertilized with more boy urine than anywhere else this side of the river. Things were so great, in fact, that Grandma and Grandpa thought it would be fun to have a baby together. Grandma wanted another girl of her own and grandpa's job was pretty secure and so they had their 11th (and thankfully, final) child. The story of how this family came to Florida is really irrelevant. Grandpa's oldest boy (the drunk) was killed in a car accident shortly after moving here in the late 70's. Some children graduated high school, some got pregnant on purpose so they could move out early, one even went to college. Throughout the years, our family would face feuds, deaths, births and run-aways.

Roger was the 2nd oldest boy for my Grandfather and man, did he love Roger. Roger got a decent job in New England, married and had 2 boys. He was more like my grandfather than any of the other kids; which I know Grandpa loves. In other families, favorites are not usually so obvious but Grandpa's love for Roger ran deeper than anyone could imagine.

In the early 90's Roger fell off Fall Mountain in New Hampshire and survived. This would serve for good story telling in the coming years because the guy obviously had 9 lives. That man could survive anything; which is why none of us were overly concerned with he was diagnosed with cancer shortly after falling off the mountain. You can guess correctly that he kicked that cancer's ass. And the other several cancers that would try to compete with Roger's pure will to live over the next 10 years.

Over those 10 years, his children grew up, he divorced and was lucky enough to have met the actual love of his life. They married this past March after a very, very, very long courtship. In April, while getting new, experimental cancer treatment, he collapsed in the hospital because apparently, his spine was ravaged by that bitch, cancer. He remained positive and confident as he signed up for more experimental treatments while we worried about his cancer.

Shortly before Roger passed, he called a family meeting and announced that the doctor has advised him to stop all treatments and simply enjoy life because he was not long for this world. Roger asked everyone to not be afraid and to simply make peace with him and enjoy what little time was left. He conducted this meeting with the same brilliance and dignity he conducted his life. I was not blessed with the presence of Roger throughout my life; he lived far away from us and our side of the family was not especially close with him. But I am so thankful that this summer, while vacationing in Vermont, I visited with him. I hope that Olivia will never forget the time Uncle Roger lay in hospital bed, located in his living room, and took a big whiff of her Crocs; "how does such a pretty girl have such smelly shoes?" he asked. We all laughed and laughed. Always a joker, that Uncle Roger.

I want to say - out loud and in writing - how proud I am of Uncle Roger. Not only for his bravery towards the end of his life but for all the joy he's brought to my Grandpa, too and for the legacy he's left for his two grown sons and brand new grandson.

Try not to fall off any of eternity's mountains this time, Roger and say hi to your mom for me.

They say He works in mysterious ways - I think he's got a sense of humor

2008-08-07T08:43:00.004-04:00

This morning, just after I was greeted by That Bitch Aunt Flo, I read that Jenna Jameson and Tito Ortiz are having a baby. I thought - seriously? God gives Jenna Jameson and Tito Ortiz a baby as I sit here in a pool of tears over the lack of my own pregnancy? I wallowed that way for a good part of this morning until I read my horoscope:

It may seem like everyone around you is happy and getting what they want, while you are still stuck in the trenches, dear Sagittarius. Don't compare yourself to other people and make judgments based on their outside appearances.

Ok, now I feel bad for judging Jenna Jameson for her choice of profession and Tito Ortiz for being an ultimate moron. They deserve a baby just as much as I do and who am I to bargain with God on matters of life?

But still...Jenna Jameson and Tito Ortiz?

Sincerely 'Fro Me To You - The Husband Edition

2008-08-06T22:19:00.009-04:00

Kristen @ We Are That Family leads this Blog Carnival every Thursday.
To see my entire archives of Sincerely 'Fro posts, click here.

This week, I've decided to go a different route for Sincerely 'Fro and do a husband edition. Mostly because I came across these hilarious (and adorable) photos of his childhood and a little because I'm kissing his ass so he'll let me paint the dining room eggplant.

Danny was born with a different name; one I won't divulge here. (Kissing ass, remember?) However, even at less than a year old he was a stud. It reminds me why I want to carry a million of his babies.

When Danny and I were looking through these pictures together, he was excited to discover that he had a belly even at under 2 years old. "I'm not fat - I'm just deformed!" he shrieked with glee.

This is Boots The Siamese Cat - in all capitals - he's a Brown Family icon. Legend has it he used to crawl into Danny's crib and groom him. Want to know a secret? To this day, whenever Danny gets to thinking about Boots, he still cries a little.

It's nice to know that even back then, he enjoyed a nice breeze - if you know what I mean. And I think you do.

The house he grew up in during the late 60's & entire 70's was located in Carnarsie, Brooklyn. Which explains why I'm pretty sure this TV fell off the back of the truck.

Notice the ashtray in the back? DCF was a long ways away back then.

I wonder if he had a coat on under the costume? Otherwise, babe...? I think you were just fat.

This is my very favorite photo of my husband. This picture is going to be included with the living room re-decorating project. Although I'm in my right mind to believe that he threw this book to whoever the photographer shortly after the shutter closed.

The true beauty of this photo is the ring he's showcasing. His parents never wanted him to forget that he was raised in Mafia Country. He was ready to bust heads at 9 years old - if only he wasn't Jewish.

I think these pants are coming back in style.

Silly perverted child, that's a boy Indian, not a girl Indian.

He was kicking this kid's ass because his parents made him go to karate instead of letting him stay home to watch Happy Days.

Don't worry about all that hair hair, sweetie. In about 20 years, you're going to meet me and I'm going to fix you up right good.

7 Bottles of BBQ Sauce and 14 Bottles of Salad Dressing Challenge - Week 1

2008-08-03T22:45:00.009-04:00

In the 6 years we've lived in our (small) humble abode, I've done very little organizing and re-vamping. I don't exactly know why - perhaps due to lack of ideas, motivation or most likely, energy and desire. I'm pretty embarrassed to admit that I just never really noticed how small this place is and when we started re-doing the living room a few weeks ago, I noticed how poorly I've been utilizing what little space we've got. It started with the new TV and entertainment center which was configured completely different than the old one; forcing me to put away copious amounts of picture frames and giving away a lot of my treasured books. My biggest victory was getting Danny to throw out that dreaded coffee table.

There's lots more to be done, though and I plan on tracking it right here on Little Miss Bloggy. Every Sunday, I'll post a new organizing project I've taken on in my home. Friends, I challenge YOU to do the same. On your own blog, post pictures about your organizing project and come back here to leave a comment to share with the class. (Don't forget to link to this blog so your readers can participate.) Not convinced? It'll be fun, I swear!

With that said, I present to you: MY PANTRY! I've spent two days organizing this tiny space in my home and man, I'm tired.

Before:

After: (Feel free to oooh and ahh)

Because I'm brave, I'm going to give a shelf-by-shelf analysis of the pantry's contents. (See, I told you it would be fun.)

The top shelf contains appliances I never use - sandwich press, Magic Bullet and hand mixer and extra light bulbs and cooking oils. Through this process, I found that I've purchased a lot of unnecessary foods - such as four bottles of olive oil.

Here's what I call my "baking" shelf. It contains baking needs and Danny's U-Bet chocolate syrup straight from Brooklyn, Baby.

What's with all the tomato sauce and paste?

My favorite shelf - the snack shelf. The 3 bags of dried pineapple were purchased on purpose in hopes that I'd snack on those instead of M&M's.

I'm going to officially call this the "condiment & cans" shelf but what I really mean is: Holy Shit Why the Fruck Do We Have 7 Bottles of BBQ Sauce and 14 Bottles of Salad Dressing?

You can't see it because it's hidden behind the giant Costco size box of Ziploc bags but there is a small bucket for Danny's crap. This is where I require he leave his balls when he enters the house.

What's your project this week? Leave a comment and let me know!

Sincerely 'Fro Me to You - A letter to my 14 year old self

2008-07-30T23:53:00.000-04:00

Learn more about this Blog Carnival by visiting Kristen at We Are THAT Family. Read my entire archives of Sincerely 'Fro posts by clicking here.

Dear 14 year old self,

First, your make up is fabulous, the black lip liner combined with the black roots really completes the look. And isn't that your mother's shirt?

But in all seriousness, allow me to give you some pearls of wisdom, 12 years later. A sort of "if I knew then what I know now" fantasy.

I promise that you are smart and will learn to be good at things, including learning. Don't be too rough on your teachers, they really do know what they're talking about. The awkward phase you think no one understands? It's happening to all of your friends, too. The sadness you feel deep in your gut is depression; tell someone and see a shrink now while you're still covered by government health insurance. Enjoy these acne-free years of your youth because just when you get cocky about having wonderful skin, you go and get knocked up and your skin never does go back to normal. And speaking of skin, you're gorgeous, dahling. Skip the pancake foundation, mmkay?

I'm going to tell you something that you really need to listen to because your failure to do so will lead to a lot of years struggling in this department. Those people you think are your friends? I swear to God they're not. They spend hours hacking into your aol account and spreading horrible rumors and excluding you on purpose. You will cry so, so many tears over these girls and they're not worth it. It will take you a long time to get over them and even 12 years later, your experience with them will impact your ability to make female friends. Besides, you're prettier than them and when you're all in your mid 20's, you're the only one not living with parents.

About boys. While I understand it's fun to write Mrs. Block on every single surface you come across, that boy is not the man of your dreams. In fact, in 2 years, he will break into your house while you're on vacation and steal everything you and your family owns. And PS - he turns out to be a drug dealer. The man of your dreams is going to come to you in the funniest way and you won't even have to wait that long for him. He's going to be unconventional and old but you're going to love him the second you meet him.

Be nicer to Mom. She tries her best with what she has and when you're an adult and have children of your own, you're going to realize how much she loves you. And don't worry - you don't turn out anything like her, I swear. Say thank you to Tony because you're going to say goodbye to him one Thanksgiving and then he's going to die and you're never, ever going to forgive yourself. Don't get so annoyed by Grandpa, in a few years, you're going to be so charmed by his quirks. You're going to get a sister who loves you unconditionally and is so cool.

One last piece of advice I want you to really pay attention to is this: stop growing up. You get to be a grown up eventually and really soon so live in the moment and just be 14.

Oh yeah - and take more pictures because in 12 more years, you're going to write a blog where you post old pictures of yourself and you're not going to have nearly enough photos to go with all the stories.

With love and concern,

Yourself 12 years later

The man, the myth...

2008-07-26T23:38:00.002-04:00

And the legend of El Cheapo.

I really, really love my husband. In our relationship, we broke all the rules and defied all odds of lasting; especially in the presence of those who wished we'd fail. I have fallen in love with this man so many times over the past 10 years that often times I have to physically place my hands on his being to remember he is real.

With that said...(Danny, you may want to stop reading right now.)

My husband is infamously cheap and I don't even mean in the-sitcom-"isn't he so cute"-way cheap. I mean, the man hates to part with money like an 8 year old hates to part with lip gloss. Unless it's something for himself. When it's something he needs, there's always a way to justify a very expensive purchase; just look in his closet, jewelry box, DJ Diaper Bag and secret drawer ("tax write-offs"). That's not to say that he doesn't spoil both Olivia and me to no end but believe me, it's not easy for him. I've never gone without a single want, let alone a need, during my entire life with him and we already know how horribly Olivia is spoiled.
As we all know (because I won't stop squawking about it), we are trying to have a baby. And we have no immediate plans to move. And we only have 2 bedrooms. And we outgrew this place two point 3 seconds after we moved in. But! I! AM! DETERMINED! I've started purging and organizing and planning on how I'm going to make this work.
Unfortunately for my dear, sweet husband, this is going to require spending money. Way more money than he thinks we're going to spend; at places that make me swoon like Ikea, The Container Store and The Target. There's new dressers I'm going to buy for Olivia's room, a set of cubed bookshelves (like the ones found on Jon & Kate + Eight) and endless amounts of buckets, baskets, containers, oh my!

I'm haven't exactly figured out my approach but as a starting point, he bought a new TV. Then again, I did make him get rid of his beloved coffee table in exchange for a microfiber storage ottoman and decorative tray.

Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped and turned upside down...

2008-07-26T00:41:00.002-04:00

Once, after the 100th episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, they showed how the whole cast and crew celebrated with a big ass cake.

I cannot offer you a big ass cake but in honor of my 100th blog post (this one is #92), I'm going to play a game. Submit your questions to me: funny, odd, personal, etc and I will answer them to the best of my ability. I assure you that no question will be too bizarre.

To participate, leave your question in the comments section of this blog. On the day of my 99th post, I will post a follow up #100 with all of your questions and answers.

And tell your friends! Because what fun will it be if it's just my sister and Kim asking me all the questions - they already know everything!

Why I Blog Answer

2008-07-25T14:59:00.004-04:00

There has been a theme going around in the blogsphere (blogosphere?) these days; Why I Blog? I've come across too-many-to-mention posts about this and y'all know I don't like to be left out of these kinds so here's my version. It's deep, yo.

During 6th grade part deux, I was blessed with an English teacher - the only teacher - who believed in me. I stayed with her throughout the rest of middle school, one year as her "aide" and another year when she was yearbook advisor. She had a serious impact on my education and was the first (read: only) one to tell me I had a writing talent. I think that comment was found on an essay I wrote about why it's bad to do drugs. (Which, only a couple of years later, would prove so, so ironic in my life.) Before Ms. Weiner (swear to God), I thought I was never going to be good at anything, especially in school but thanks to her taking the time out to build my confidence, I did what any 13 year old girl would do. I wrote really, really bad poetry. I wrote poetry to boys I liked but dissed me, I wrote poetry to girlfriends about girl power (very Spice Girl-esqe) and I wrote poetry about what a horrible, sullen life I had and left it out for my mother to find.
Somewhere between 6th grade part deux English class and raves and ecstasy in 9th grade, I forgot I was smart. I rediscovered my intelligence by watching the news when I was pregnant with Olivia and I was convinced at that time that I'd been dealt a really bad hand. All this intelligence and a baby to hold me down - what a shame. Then Olivia was born and I was swept off my feet by loving her and busy rebelling against the "babies having babies" stigma and I forgot my smarts again.
My creative time between then and around 2006 was filled with writing proposals to replace computer room air conditioning units and faux-lawyer letters on behalf of Danny and his band. Then I joined myspace (classy) and discovered their blog section; immediately intrigued, I started reading other people's blogs and shortly thereafter, decided I would write one myself. My early posts are really bad, in my opinion, except the one I wrote about my sister; which I only think was as good because it was the first time I wrote from my heart. (Bad 6th grade poetry excluded, of course.) Myspace blogging became an obsession; I evaluated every minute of my life in blog terms: would this be funny, how could I write this, etc. There is a time frame of almost 1 year where there are no posts on my blog because I forgot about me; I completely dove into the needs of everyone else (as do most other moms). There were several months of depression that probably should have been medicated but wasn't and before long, I was ok.

The bottom line is: I write because it makes me feel smart again. It makes me remember that I'm not just a paper-shuffler or a PTA mom or a Spacemen groupie. Of course, it's something all of my own; which is almost always a common denominator in she-bloggers. And there's the documentation part of it - I'll always have these archives to look back on the time when I was trying to conceive baby Scooter (ha), or was dragged into a lawsuit I didn't want to be involved in and of course, that beautiful time before Olivia was a snot-nose brat (wait, when was that?).

I'm someone who has something to say - even if it isn't always good or funny or thought-provoking or blog-roll worthy.

Worst $15 spent EVER

2008-07-25T08:56:00.004-04:00

New OB/GYN: Hi Sophia, why are you here today?

Me: I want to have a baby...We're trying to have a baby.

Doctor: How long have you been trying?

Me: We haven't. We start on Monday.

:::crickets chirpping:::

Doctor: :::blink::: Um. Ok. So why are you here?

Me: :::nervous chuckle::: Well, see, I was 17 when I had my first child and she was unplanned, obviously. And um, I didn't know if there was a special "grown-up" way to plan and prepare to have a baby. I guess....I just wanted to do it all right and proper this time.

Doctor: Ok. How did you get pregnant last time?

Me: Possibly mind altering chemicals and definitely a lot of cheap beer.

Doctor: Sounds good. Try that. :::laughs::: Just have lots of sex.

Me: :::blink - blink - blink:::

Sincerely 'fro me to you - Prom 1998

2008-07-24T00:00:00.005-04:00

Join me in this Blog Carnival courtesy of Kristen at We Are THAT Family. (Posted every Thursday.)

This is me the night of prom. Except it wasn't my prom (I was a Freshman) and it wasn't my high school (it was my high school's rival, in fact) and I didn't even know this dude. Remember when I told you about how hip it was to meet boys on aol chat rooms in the early/late 90's? That's how I met this fella. I can remember only these details about him: his name is John, he's Hawaiian, his dad was a cop (so not kosher for bad-girl me) and he did not have a date to prom. The story goes like this...

I went to a different high school than most of my friends because I was in a "magnet" program (for law enforcement - haha). Luckily, my very best friend was also in the same program which made it bearable but we missed our old friends. Spring of 1998 came and we mutually decided we weren't going to attend our own school's prom, instead we wanted to attend the rival high school's prom; where all of our other friends were. Except she (who'll remain nameless until I post a blog about her, too) made plans with people that I didn't like. I can't remember why I didn't find another group to go with but I'm sure it had something to do with my burning desire to make her jealous (I was never successful at that).

After a virtual-meeting in a local chat room, John asked me to be his date to prom. 3 days before prom. So I bought a dress ($12 at TJ Maxx), got my nails done (at the beauty school) and I vividly remember struggling for a long time with my hair. In my Reliant K car, I drove to John's house and there was a limo, another couple and all of these parents taking pictures of us. (I'm pretty sure that my mom didn't even know I was attending prom. My relationship with my entire family began to deteriorate around this time.) That's where this famous picture came from. The details of prom are very cloudy in my head - it almost shows like a picture slide show instead of a movie. I remember being very, very, very bored. And regretful. And sad watching my friends from the ballroom balcony while they danced and laughed without their shoes on. After prom, we went to Lake Worth beach and sat on the benches. It was unseasonably cold and John graciously gave me his jacket. Then he tried to kiss me and I asked to go home.

Two weeks later, John emailed me this (and more) pictures and thanked me for a wonderful night. I really felt horrible about John's prom.

Years later, while signed onto my old aol screen name, he IMed me. He was a cop living in Lake Placid and having a great life. I guess I'd already had Olivia and I remember how degrading he was to me about having a baby so young. Faster than I got knocked up, I forgave myself for ruining his prom.

Before that, though; just a few months after prom, I emailed that photo to Danny after chatting with him in another aol chat room (this bitch got around). He told me I was hot and asked who the fat guy was (pot: meet kettle). So - 10 years later, I'd like to apologize to John and thank him. If it weren't for that picture, I might not have hooked the man I would fall in love with at first sight, marry and have children with.

PS. In case you're wondering - yes, there are endless stories about boys that I met from aol chat rooms. And no, I will never tell them all.

I pink puff paint heart technology

2008-07-23T22:39:00.001-04:00

Because when I'm in the middle of reading the archives of a very moving blog when nature calls, I can bring my laptop with me into the can.

You're welcome.

Pimp My Blog

2008-07-22T08:11:00.003-04:00

How do you like it? Definitely beats that blue.

I've been doing a lot of "promoting" (essentially commenting on my favorite blogs) and hope to lure in some unfamiliar ip addresses. So if you're new - welcome to my humble abode. It's messy so watch your step.

Next, I need to publicly thank Shauna at Blah Blah Blog & See My Designs for this makeover. She was wonderfully easy to work with and obviously psychic because she knew exactly what I wanted based on my favorite color being pink, I like tropical stuff and polka dots. In addition to being super fast and courteous, she was cheap! No, no. Not that kind of cheap. So if you're looking to do an episode of "Pimp my Blog", contact Shauna.

You may have noticed some new features; such as a subscription box. I challenge you to subscribe - get notification of new posts emailed directly into your inbox! (At least I think that's how it works. Try it and let me know, will ya?) There's also a blog roll (or whatever) where I've linked up to my favorite blogs. The really neat feature about that is that it tells you when the other blogs have posted. In other words, you should come here first, then read dooce, bossy & Kristen. Lastly, I've gone into my archives and tagged all of the old posts. Now, you can click on a tag link and it will bring up all the other posts tagged under the same name. (It's times like this I listen when Danny talks because then I wouldn't sound like such a fool when trying to explain technology.)

Look forward to another Sincerely 'Fro Me To You post on Thursday and a post about how my husband prepares to breed. Good stuff, folks. Good stuff.

For it is a temple

2008-07-18T20:02:00.005-04:00

Dear Body,

First, I would like to thank you for cooperating this afternoon at the gynecologist's office. It was a drastic improvement from our last gyno visit; which as we both remember was less than pleasant - hell, it wasn't even sane. It may have helped that I called in the appropriate anti-anxiety friends to calm you but still - I give credit where credit is due.

Body, I know I haven't always been kind to you. After all, I've spent a lot of years filtering nicotine into your blood stream and eating more than our share (and a small African community) of Twinkies, ho ho's and Hershey bars. But this time you've really gone too far. I tried giving you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you missed the Twitter where I announced to you and your organisms, cells and other crucial elements that we are on a diet. However, the debilitating headaches and endless lack of energy proves to me that you've noticed the aforementioned sugar and other miscellaneous junk food disappearance. This isn't any old diet, you know. This is the diet in which I am preparing you to gain even more mass for the purpose of procreation. I know you probably don't want to manage another 30lbs on top of what we've already got going on and I'm only looking out for your best interests here.

So please tell me why - after 7 days of strict dietary cut-backs and enormous amounts of water - have you gained 3 flecking pounds?

Sincerely Yours,
Sophia

The first of many...

2008-07-17T15:29:00.004-04:00

Kristen over at We are THAT family started this "Blog Carnival" that is pretty popular in the Blogosphere. Never one to be left out, I decided to join the ranks of many. Permission to laugh at my expense.

Spring 1998

Man, that's a doozy, eh? Before I tell the story of what Missy & me were up to that night, let's spend a little time on the photo itself.

1. The purple feathers: I was a craft queen before my time. I made this picture frame for myself shortly after the picture was developed. I think I used some left over purple feathers from a (very) last minute mother's day gift I gave my mom that year. It was also a picture frame.

2. The wall: This was a wall in my bedroom that was devoted to rave party flyers. I attended each of those parties and eventually married the man who performed at most of them.

3. The Glasses: You may have been surprised to discover that even at the tender age of 16 I was wearing prescription glasses. But I wasn't. Those glasses were a fashion statement. One that probably said "I am Bono's illegitimate daughter".

4. The Jacket: Not only was jacket not even close to being the tackiest thing in my wardrobe; but I owned two of them. One more plastic-y than the other.

5. The Girl: The lovely teenager standing next to me is Missy Clinton. I'm posting her whole name in hopes that one day, she'll google herself and find this picture of us and me. I've spent years searching for her on the internet and was never able to find her - which makes me a little bit sad. Melissa Clinton from Lake Worth, FL was da bomb! See, Missy & me were BFFL4E when we were kids & met at the skating rink. She was the baby girl in a family with 2 older brothers (I made out with one of them once) and let me tell you, she was the apple of her momma's eye! She lived pretty far from me but that never stopped us from spending endless weekends at each other's houses. One thing was a drag - she was a kick-ass soccer player and sometimes our weekends would be cut short so she could travel around the state playing. We were like peaz 'n' carrotz until we got to be teenagers and lost touch. Until I was 15 and standing in line to get into a nightclub and low and behold, there was lil' miss missy clinton standing right behind me! And she was a raver, too! We was peaz 'n' carrotz again real fast like.

6. The Bathrobe: Yes, Missy is wearing a red bathrobe over her ensemble. It was my mother's bathrobe that she received as a baby shower gift when she was pregnant with me. And Missy could not stand to be without it because clearly, it just makes the outfit.

Back in da day, circa 1998, the internet was all the rage and chatting on AOL chat rooms was the thing to do - I was no exception to this new trend. The details of what led up to this night are a little foggy (ah-hem) but somehow a DJ at a nightclub in Fort Lauderdale thought I was a DJ and - probably thinking he was going to get him some Sophia love, he invited me and a guest to his club. To DJ. With records on turntables. This called for an adventure and the perfect escort would be Missy.

We drove down from Greenacres (the place to be) to Fort Lauderdale (about 50 minutes away) in my Dodge "K" car and found the place. I can remember that it was a fetish club but I can't remember if I knew that before hand. Regardless, we went in and the DJ guy was pretty old (even by my current standards) but shit - we were in a club! In Fort Lauderdale! We walked around and rejected the looks of disapproval from the elders who probably didn't know it was teeny-bopper night and generally enjoyed ourselves. Over the pounding techno music you heard something to the effect of "And now please welcome our guest DJ - DJ KREAM". Knowing that was my AOL name, Missy and I walked super slow into the DJ booth and we must have looked like a couple of baby deer in headlights! When el creepo handed me the headphones to start spinning, I accelerated into panic mode and gave Missy that look of desperation. There were a couple of whispers and a lot of giggles between us in those few minutes and next thing you know, we've high tailed it to the exit, jumped in that Reliable K car and were out of that joint quicker than you can say "Aunt Jemima".

Swear to God.

Green: Red light

2008-07-14T09:26:00.003-04:00

I've been taking steps to lessen my family's carbon footprint. Tiny steps, albeit but steps nonetheless. I've switched from heavily chemical-ed cleaning supplies to the Method line of more environmentally, safer, non-bleach smelly products. They're heavily available at Target and I heard you can get them at Costco but I've never seen it myself. I also switched from my regular Cascade dishwasher detergent to a Green version. The only thing I haven't switched so far is laundry soap and that's because I haven't read wonderful things about the product's ability to thoroughly clean clothes. Also, I haven't given up my Clorox Antibacterial Wipes. Because really: what's the point in Going Green if the salmonella on the kitchen counter is going to kill me?
In conjunction with Going Green at home, I'm trying to live a more simple life in general. Before buying that crap from China at Target, I really weight how I'll use it and for how long. Of course, this is hard with a small Hannah Montana, Camp Rock, Cheetah Girl loving girl but I'm trying.
Another way I'd like to change my lifestyle is eating more organically and locally. Except that's pretty hard to come by here. There are no Farmer's Markets (that I know of - and I've looked), there's no co-ops or specialty stores featuring locally grown produce, meats, etc. Down the street there used to be a farm that grew it's own strawberries and other fruits & veggies but they sold their farming land to a nursery who stores their potted plants on the land now.
I'm hoping to recruit some new, local readers. Not only for socializing and networking purposes but I truly hope they can point me in the right direction for a solution to this problem.

Do you know of any locally grown, possibly organic places to purchase produce, herbs, meat, etc?
Also, are you local to the South Florida area? Are you a new reader? Are you an old friend who reads this blog faithfully and sends me emails instead of leaving comments? (Ahem - KIM!) Tell me so in the comment section.

The one where I want to kiss Al Gore

2008-07-14T09:09:00.003-04:00

This morning, as per my regular AM routine, I sat outside with coffee. And I did not sweat. Not only did I not break a sweat, when the wind blew, I got a little chill.
Enjoyable, right?
Except we're in the very sunny and very hot South Florida. It's not supposed to be 73 degrees in the middle of July. Crap, it's hardly 73 degrees in the middle of January.
What gives, Momma Nature? What gives?

Consider this your warning

2008-07-11T23:23:00.003-04:00

I'm not really sure how to announce to your family & friends (and clearly the entire world of internets) that your husband and you are trying to have a baby.
"Hey Grandma! Guess what? I'm going to be having a lot of sex these days! Hello...? Um, Gram? Heloooooo?"
"Hi Mom - yeah I'm doing good. Listen, I need you to babysit Olivia for 3 nights every month for the next few months. Oh, what are we doing? We'll be doing it in efforts to give you another grandchild. Mom? Where'd you go, Mom?"
"Boss! Please consider this your official notice: I may be extremely distracted from my actual job in order to do things like take my temperature and track my fertility and you know, blog about it. Hope ya don't mind! And by the way, I could really use a raise and 3 months paid maternity leave sometime in the near future. Thanks!"

Yes - after many years of discussion (ahem - see: begging) - Danny has finally come to his senses and decided he'd like another baby. Those of you who know us personally know what this means for me and what a huge step it is for that sweet, sweet husband of mine. Bless his baby-wantin' heart.
The first step is getting a pre-pregnancy plan - which I'll be establishing with my new OB/GYN next week. And effective immediately, I'm on a quest to loose weight. No, I won't tell you how much. The number is too big. Trust me.

Sex Ed - the 7 year old's version

2008-07-11T23:18:00.005-04:00

Olivia: I know how you get pregnant.
Me: :::intrigued & very, very scared::: Oh? How?
Olivia: Well, first you pee on a stick, of course. Then you go to the hospital and get x-rays of your belly. Then, you go back home for a little while and go back to the hospital and the doctor takes the baby out.
Me: No, that's not really how it works.
Olivia: Oooh, something shiny! Look, Mom!

Calling all people smarter than me!

2008-07-08T23:06:00.003-04:00

I really, really, really need my blog redesigned.

Would someone PLEASE help me?

Getting on that Pop Star band wagon

2008-07-08T22:41:00.005-04:00

When you have a 7 1/2 year old daughter who's allowed to watch Disney Channel exclusively*, it's only natural that an embarrassing amount of the family budget goes towards Hannah Montana junk.

Hannah's original ego, Miley Cyrus has a new CD coming out on July 22nd (Happy Birthday, Mom!) and her first single from that CD is "7 Things". Here's the video. Here are the lyrics.

First, Miley co-wrote the song; which for the record, I really like - it's catchy and smart. I've been bopping to it for a week. I completely relate to the lyrics (I love being 26 - makes it easier to remember being 15.) and the video is original.
Second, I feel bad for what the media has done to poor Miley. The media & her parents are to blame for that whole "Mileygate" incident. (Hm, blaming media & parents - Lindsay Lohan, anyone?) All in all, I think she's a cute girl from a cute town with a cute voice. I like her. And if you can keep your kids away from mainstream media (meaning anything NOT Disney Channel), she's an excellent role model for little girls.

Now, I'm going to pick on her a little bit. Before you read ahead, please click on the link above to see the lyrics.
Perhaps while Miles was trying on blonde wigs, she missed the part in math class where you learn to count to 12. Because that's how many things she hates about you. Not 7.
Go see the video now. Back? Ok. Seriously, what's with the "shaw"s? I don't get it. And the over exaggerated facial expressions are just killing me. I've resorted to having to watch the Sims version of the video because I cannot stop the giggling once I get to the end of the video with all the melodrama.

Please excuse me while I pre-order my daughter's copy of the cd.

*I've found Disney Channel to be the only channel with programming that my child can watch unsupervised. That doesn't mean her and her father sneak in an episode of Family Guy once a week. Good, wholesome family togetherness.

The vacation that wasn't a vacation

2008-07-08T09:05:00.005-04:00

You may have noticed that I haven't mentioned my vacation yet... I wasn't going to as I'm still emotionally recovering from what was the most exhausting (and by exhausting I do not mean exhilarating) vacation of my life.
My beloved grandmother experienced flu-like symptoms shortly before my arrival; nothing to worry about, just a little bug. Except the day I arrived, something was off. Except my grandmother is the type of woman who raised 11 children - 6 of them not biologically hers - who suffered from various handicaps (some physical, some emotional). So she refuses to be knocked down by anything - especially a tiny little flu bug. We were all muzzled from expressing our concerns on her health that day and decided Day 2 would be much better. You can probably predict this next sentence: She was not better; she was worse. Way worse. She was in and out of consciousness, didn't recognize any of us, even her favorite sister and was so sick, she literally could not sit up on her own. There were several hours of pleading, arguing and demanding before her favorite sister sat on my Gram's bed and said if she didn't go to the hospital, we would call 911 and that would create a big scene at the campground. A few more hours pass and we've finally got her into the tiny but efficient hospital. Assuming she is simply exhausted, dehydrated and with flu symptoms, we conclude "they" (hospital peeps) will keep her overnight with IV fluids, a couple of bottles full of pills and send her on her way. Turns out she was suffering from pneumonia and was bit by a (non-deer) tick and was very, very, very ill. She stayed in the hospital 3 more days - more than half of my time in Vermont.
I can handle physical illness - give me your best puking, coughing up phlegm and bleeding from limbs and I'm ok. I don't do emotional and mental illness well. Especially from my grandmother who's been a strong, sharp and quick personality in my life. Gram was confused. You could see it in her enlarged eyes; it was terrifying. I could not cry because crying meant something was wrong and there was reason to be scared.
I rented a car and took Olivia to a couple of planned visits throughout New England and to my sister's house for a sleep over with her cousins. We had a nice visit with my sister and spent a lot of time with my favorite Great-Aunt. But I still couldn't cry. Because we only cry if something is wrong and nothing can be wrong with my Gram. She's fine.
I was relieved to leave after seeing her gain a tiny bit of strength every day. She was able to keep food down a little more every time and was even enjoying some time outdoors.

She's still not 100% better. I'm afraid to wonder if she'll ever get back to 100%. We were in Vermont to celebrate her 70th birthday and I just cannot bear to even consider the facts of her age, illness and recovery rate.

I did finally cry for about a week when I got home. She's not going to die, you know. She's going to get better and live to see many, many more great grandchildren. I have to believe that because when she dies, it's going to be the most horrific experience of my life. And I don't know how I'll survive it.

Fo' Realz

2008-07-08T09:01:00.003-04:00

Picture a happy family of 3: a dad, a mom & a 7 1/2 year old child in a grocery store. Mom's attention is at her coupon folder, list and aisles. Dad & child are horseplaying a couple of aisles away - perhaps bickering over $1. Several minutes pass and out of the child's mouth the mother hears: "You mess with the bull, you get the horns."

Yes. That's my life; my family. Jealous?

Pros & Cons List: The Pre-Vacation Edition

2008-06-09T11:27:00.004-04:00

Olivia and I are going to Vermont in three short days. Here's a list of pre-vacation issues.

I broke my favorite (and only) prescription sunglasses.

Pro: No one in Vermont can appreciate DKNY sunglasses anyway.

Con: Dude - they're my favorite glasses and they don't make them anymore!

WWIII has erupted among my in-laws.

Pro: They're not the one's I'm visiting on vacation.

Con: My husband has to stay home and deal with it.

In a packing preparation frenzy, 9 loads of laundry were done.

Pro: My mom did it for me.

Con: Having to be 26 & still ask your mom to help with laundry.

I always have to clean my entire house before going on vacation.

Pro: Come home to a clean house.

Con: Or not because my husband is staying home.

I won't have Internet access in Vermont.

Pro: I'll get to enjoy the scenery and beauty that only a New England summer can provide.

Con: How will I keep up with Bossy, Mir and Dooce for over a week?

Closing Out

2008-06-05T10:31:00.003-04:00

Today is the last day of school for Olivia. First grade was a challenge for her; she was called out on her bullshit a lot this year, she faced challenges with friendships and grew in so many ways. It was a year of huge successes; she was on Honor Roll for all 4 quarters; learned that she couldn't always breeze through everything with great ease and finally developed an understanding of what it is to treat people how you want to be treated. This is the last year she'll have Mrs. Read to charm and next year, she's getting a much tougher teacher; one we know she won't be able to manipulate with her bright smile.
For me, this year has been a learning experience. I started the beginning of year with a new, official role as a volunteer and it literally changed my life. The lessons I've learned are possibly greater than Olivia's. I learned how to maintain my dignity in the face of true aversion. I've learned how to deal with parents on a professional and straight-forward fashion without being abrasive or rude. The relationships I've cultivated with entire families this year have been priceless and one's that I'll hold onto for a very, very long time. I made a lot of mistakes, flew by the seat of my pants and had to clean up a lot of my own shit but I raised a lot of funds, organized community events and family involvement projects. The kids have had the greatest impact on my life; working with them on a daily basis has been more fun than I thought it would be. They made it all worthwhile when, while flipping through their school scrapbooks, I found that most of them listed their favorite school memory, activity or lesson involved me.
I'm looking ahead to next year a little wiser, a lot braver and maybe with some new organizational skills. I already have a summer to-do list as issued by various teachers, administrators and myself of things to plan, organize, clean and set-up; I cannot wait.
Before that, though, I am taking a break. First, a much-needed vacation to the New England mountains. Then I'm going to come home and focus on my own life for a little while before diving back into the swing of school. I have my own closets and pantries that have been severely neglected this school year. I cannot remember the last time I cleaned my ceiling fans and really - that's just plain gross. And I'm going to spend so much quality time with my husband that he's going to be so sick of me and beg me to go back to spending umpteen hours at school.
Yup. That's the plan.

This conversation actually occured today

2008-06-03T09:09:00.004-04:00

Between a male technician (50+ years old) and me at 8:56am.

Me: Hi? Why are you here?
Him: ::blank stare:: Um, I'm a-pickin' up this a-paperwork and filters.
Me: ::confused look:: Didn't {boss} tell you to go to {customer} in Miami?
Him: ::continue blank stare:: Uh, I think-a she said something about eh meeting.
Me: No. There is no meeting today. Why are you at the office at 9am when you were supposed to be in Miami at 1st call.
Him: ::walking away from me:: Eh, ok. So what-a-do-a-you-a-want-a me to do? You tell me.
Me: I want you to tell me where the miscommunication happened so it doesn't happen again.
Him: ::still walking away:: I will call {boss}.
Me: Fine. Why didn't you go directly to Miami?
Him: I didn't know it was supposed to be first thing in the morning.
Me: Yes you did. What is this you say about a meeting?
Him: Oh, well-a, I guess she didn't say anything about a meeting.
Me: Ok. Why are you late?
Him: ::enters work truck:: Oh-a-kay. See you later. ::drives away::

And this is a small example of the frustrations I face at work. I have similar conversations like this multiple times a day.

You can understand now why I smoke and eat like it's my last day?

I'm out of order? YOU'RE out of order! This whole room is out of order!

2008-05-29T09:09:00.005-04:00

For reasons that I don't think I can publicly discuss; my life has been unusually stressful this week. Let's just say, someone I used to work for is suing someone I may or may not currently work for and I was dragged into the middle to give some information to someone. Yeah, good luck with this one. I am trying to remember to use my blog as a stress reliever instead of...oh, let's say a bag of Tootsie Rolls. But that's kind of like remembering to use your inside voice while in a library and being attacked by killer meal worms. Visualize that for a minute. Not so easy, eh?

Hypothetically, if you ever have to interview me in a legal setting, allow me to give you some handy pointers. (Why, yes, I am extremely considerate.) First, do not start by reminding me how stupid I am. I am as stupid as you want me to be. Second, it does not bode well with me to display manipulative behavior. I may or may not have a fancy law degree from a fancy school but I am ghetto. And us ghetto rats can identify manipulative and similar behaviors immediately. Third, do not loose your temper; the madder you are, the more confident I am. You're welcome.

I couldn't be happier this week is over. I didn't know it was going to be so draining and stressful. I also didn't know I would relieve those emotions by crying for several hours (also - I ate many Tootsie Rolls).

Mommy needs a nap

2008-05-14T09:51:00.003-04:00

If you've ever had the torture (I mean, pleasure) of watching Dora the Explorer, you're probably familiar with the song "He's a grumpy old troll" which is all about a grumpy old troll who lives under a bridge and won't ever let Dora and her friends over without serious effort. Except now, I think that song was written about me.
Maybe I'm PMSing and since I don't track my - ahem - cycles, I never know when that bitch Aunt Ruby is going to rear her ugly head and turn my world upside down for the 3 days before her visit. None the less - I'm very crabby. And emotional. And sensitive. And everyone is getting on my GOD DAMNED nerves!
So I'm not sure if God is considering my file for admission into heaven someday but I'm pretty sure I've left him confused with yesterday's events. I was in Target for some Retail Therapy with crap from China and there was an elderly woman in a motorized scooter trying to maneuver her way though the women's clothing racks. She was having quite a bit of difficulty and so I (Hercules), moved two shelving racks so she could get through. Guaranteed admission ticket, right?
Except several hours later, I was in Publix at around 5:30 pm; which, apparently is the worst time to be there. I needed items from the deli so I instructed The Husband to stand in the sub line while I stood in the fresh sliced deli line. A very nosy woman (clearly without sense of intuition because I had to have had the look and she didn't take it as a clue) gave me two instructions on how to purchase both deli & subs at the same time. There was some confusing discussion and I finally looked at her and said "How would you suggest I do two things at once?". Except I was very snarky and had the tone. 2.2 seconds later I was buried with guilt. But later came to the conclusion that really, she deserved it. And after that, I realized that I snapped on a stranger who was probably trying to make that moment in my life a little easier because I AM SO TIRED OF PEOPLE TELLING ME WHAT TO DO!
Who knows what ultimate fate God will present to me when the time comes (a very, very, very long time from now - I'd like to be rewarded from this stage of my life also known as hell, aka life with a 7 year old girl, with grandchildren). But surely, He's got some thinkin' to do!

Help Wanted

2008-05-12T10:30:00.003-04:00

I am seeking someone who can help me re-vamp this blog.

I'd like to redesign it and make the layout more reader friendly. I truly have no idea what I want it to look like, though. I assume you designer types know how to make it all pretty and stuff.

Also - I don't want to pay for this. All I can offer you are things like kid-friendly craft ideas, how to better procrastinate and how not to do the laundry.

Please link me to your friends who are way smarter than me. Thank you.

People who don't look in the mirror

2008-05-12T09:55:00.004-04:00

We spent a lovely Mother's Day Weekend at the Nick Hotel in Orlando, FL. I may write a review on this hotel later but I've got more urgent things to discuss. (The hotel, really, was very nice and I would highly recommend it to anyone with children ages 3 - 15.)

Allow me to prelude my thesis by saying I am all about women embracing their bodies regardless of what it looks like, is shaped like, weighs, etc. More so, I am in support of knowing what you can and cannot pull off in relation to your body type. Love yourself no matter what. But seriously...? Know your limit.

This hotel has two water parks which translates to many families in bathing suits. I've learned one very important fact about American mothers this weekend; many do not own mirrors nor do they utilize mirrors in fitting rooms. This was proven to me by the visual display American women put on during thier stay at the Nick Hotel. Women weighing in at over 200 lbs should not wear string bikinis. If the majority of your clothing (and especially undergarments) comes from the plus size section - you should not wander into the Juniors department for swimwear. I'm just sayin'.
As an American mother who looks like most other American mothers and not like Nicole Richie or Christina Aguilera; I fully sympathize with the struggle to find the bathing suit. I know that I can't wear a bikini.
Here's my question: When the plus-size women tried on their bathing suit, did they decide that string bikini was the one for them? Did their companion encourage this unscrupulous purchase? (Because just like finding ass-jeans, you must always bring a companion when bathing suit shopping.) Perhaps this was a purchase that was made 70lbs ago? But before you left your Spongebob Square Pants suite and headed down to the pool, did you check yourself in the 4 mirrors located in each suite? At that time, did you get that warm and fuzzy feeling one usually gets when looking smokin' hot? Also - a tan (even the spray-on kind) really helps deflect the sun from your white body.

In relation - if you are a woman who is lucky enough / works hard enough to obtain a string bikini-worthy body, here's a loving note of advice: When enjoying a day of leisure poolside with your children at a children's themed hotel, please refrain from thong bathing suits. There are pre-teen/adolescent boys here who may become victim of injury attempting to stare at your ass. Because it's the first ass they've seen in person who isn't related to them. I'm sure their tube socks, washcloths and Kleenex will thank you tonight.

What Happens?

2008-05-08T08:38:00.003-04:00

What happens when you're stuck in a job you despise more and more everyday but can't quit because the economy is to shit & no one is hiring?
What do you do when you have a boss whom you admire and respect yet she allows her employees to walk all over her?
When are you supposed to do when you've walked out of work early citing the on-set of a nervous breakdown and even your boss knows it's that bad she won't stop or penalize you?
What if you've haven't seen a raise in 2 years because you know the company is still building itself and can't afford it. Yet you've never bitched about it because you believe in that company and want to see it's success?
What happens if you've been dragged into a lawsuit involving your job?
What do you do if you're encouraged to take vacation because you "use it or loose it" but when you plan for that vacation, it's considered selfish?
What happens when you land a huge customer (one that the company would have folded without), bust butt everyday to keep that customer happy, go above and beyond your actual job description to accommodate that customer's requests but the other employees do nothing to help; in fact, they only hinder?
What happens when the reason you get out of bed every morning is to volunteer and the second work enters your mind, you push the snooze button?

What are you supposed to do then?

Mother's Day

2008-05-07T09:42:00.003-04:00

Real bloggers have been doing this and it looked fun so here's my contribution.

In honor of Mother's Day, I've listed 10 things I didn't know before I became a Mother.
In no particular order:

10 - I didn't know that I would become increasingly controlling and OCD-like yet learn to let go of so much.
9 - I didn't know the highlight of my days would be spent in a classroom - where I'm not paid - and never bitch about it.
8 - I didn't know it would be so difficult to find family friends where everyone in that family likes everyone from our family.
7 - I didn't know I'd understand my own mother.
6 - I didn't know I'd spend more than one day in a kid theme hotel because of their water slide and love it.
5 - I didn't know how much a child could have so many of your bratty tendencies (and that I'd be a little proud).
4 - I didn't know that I would become "THAT" Mom. (You know what kind of Mom I'm talking about, too.)
3 - I didn't know how much a "Littlest Pet Shop" would really, really hurt when stepped upon.
2 - I didn't know girls have toilet aim just as bad as little boys (how does that happen?).
1 - I didn't know I was truly capable of loving so openly.

It's a slow start

2008-05-07T09:25:00.004-04:00

There have been a million posts I've started to write; both on this page & in my head and just never finished.
As many people are, I'm a little (ahem) crazy. I'm probably overly-critical of myself and perhaps slightly insecure. When I'm doing something (in this case - writing) and it seems that it's just not right/good enough/lacking/(insert negative adjective here), I walk away. Sometimes I push through and come out the other end with successful results.
Except there are just so many things that I am not good enough/lacking/bad/(insert another negative adjective here) at that this blog and my writing was ignored. With the risk of sounding very much martry-ry (that's not a word - whatever), I face many challenges throughout my life and on a day-to-day basis. As a young mother, there are always stereotypes I am trying to break, judgements I'm trying to reverse and opinions I'm trying to change. Never have I been so motivated yet exhausted trying to break all the rules that aren't right.

But in an effort to save my old self, I've decided to focus on my writing. It's really something I love and would like to be good at (yeah - how's that working out for you, English grammar person?). I don't have any funny stories off the top of my head to tell at this moment but I will give a short update which will be followed by a Mother's Day post.

Adventures of Brown:
I've still been sittin' here at work 8am-2pm working for the man (actually, woman) which is quickly trimming minutes off of my life span. Tomorrow is always more stressful than today and I'm always going to struggle with that. So until The Husband has a hit record, expect me to always scream about this place.
After 2pm, however, is my passion. I've increased my responsibility with Chicken's school and actually have a "title"; one I'm exceptionally honored to hold. Volunteering brings purpose to my day (you know - aside from being a mother and wife) and I look forward to being at school.
Chicken has made honor roll for the 3rd quarter this year. In Florida, you must take a standardized government test (Thank you, "No Child Left Behind") - 1st & 2nd graders take a test and 3rd - 5th take a test called something different but with the same results (you fail the test, you fail the grade). Anyway - Chicken scored the highest score in the school with 1st & 2nd graders. We're so thrilled (and I just cannot imagine where she gets all that intelligence from) and have rewarded her with many material things and a mini-vacation (bribe much?).
The Husband continues to tour the country on the weekends chasing that big musical dream. We love him anyway.

So - that's what's happening here. Thanks to my loyal reader for anxiously waiting for this post. Sorry I've disappointed you all (err - the one of you).

Connections

2007-10-15T10:02:00.002-04:00

There's a house behind my office that's having an extension built on it. There was once a screened in porch which was broken, I assume, from Hurricane Wilma; left only with an aluminum frame. I would watch the owners sit on a porch swing and smoke butts and it was killing me. More than once I walked halfway across the parking lot to their yard wanting to ask "What are you going to do about this?"; I couldn't stand it, half destroyed. But I never made it there. How could they leave it like this? They have a dog, an old chocolate brown lab named Hershey who sometimes leaves piles of crap so big in our parking lot you'd think horses have come through. He's so big, stupid and sweet; he wonders around the yard and our lot, sniffing our dogs smells and I always watch him waddle back home. Anyway, a few months ago, they started construction. First, they took away that aluminum frame and jack-hammered the concrete floor. There were 4 workers at first and as usual, two guys standing around watching while the other two humped like camels. One of the men always working hard is an older black man. Perhaps in his mid-to-late 50's and seriously balding. I can't tell how tall he is from where I watch through my office window but he seems to be average height and thin. He's here nearly everyday; working through the wooden framing, electrical wiring, drywalling, installing windows and let me tell you, this man can stucco like no one's business. One day, I noticed a tree I hadn't noticed before; they have a banana tree and it was growing bunches and bunches of green bananas. I walked across to get a close-up view-how absurd I'd never seen bananas growing on a tree before. He watched me walk over and examine the tree but never said anything. You know how you can feel someone watching you? I felt that burning sensation as I walked back to my tiny office. He cannot possibly know I watch him work as the french, double paned windows are slightly tinted to filter out harsh Florida light. I must spend hours watching him work, fascinated by his determination, I know, to do a good job for these people. Several times a day, I go outside to smoke cigarettes, something I take great pleasure yet relish with guilt in. Every time, my friend stops working and puts down his tools to wave to me. I wave back. "Hello, my stranger friend!" I want to shout but have never spoken. The kind gesture moves me.

They've started painting today and I assume he'll go away soon as the end of this build out winds down. This man, whom I've nothing in common with; average, black, older and balding, working through hot sun and humid rain; a connection. My life blows by so fast and sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can grab hold of a branch and see the vivid colors around me. Like the bananas once green a perfect color yellow.

The mystery of people

2007-07-25T10:15:00.001-04:00

I realize I'm not a "people person". I don't, in general, enjoy strangers. I love my friends, have a blast with acquaintances but I can do without strangers. I have a slight reputation for being "that bitch married to the Spacemen guy". I don't mean to come off so cross or unapproachable but that's just how I am. My feelings are always worn on my sleeve, for everyone to see. I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I don't do "fake" well. So you'll understand why I have such a problem understanding people different than myself.
I'm beginning to recognize behaviors in people (by that I mean friends, family and strangers alike) which I do not possess; specifically, manipulative personality. Let's go back, way back to my childhood. In the family I grew up in, there was no bullshit. If someone was upset about something, anything, we'd say it outright. "You're pissing me off because you did this, this and this." Lots of words were thrown around, our feelings were expressed and we cried a lot of tears. But then it was over. We'd get mad, yell and by the time we saw each other again, we're long over it. And more times than not, it was never brought up again because it was resolved from the get-go. It's my opinion that this method is the definition of fighting fair.
It seems that many people in my life have an agenda, an underlying tone and I'm having serious difficulty coping with it. Manipulative personality confuses me. If you have something to say, say it; please don't make an accusatory insinuation, refuse to clarify and not give me a chance to defend myself. If you're upset about something, let me know so I can fix it. I cannot figure out why people behave like this (I'm just a writer, I'm not a shrink, ok?), I'm sure it stems from their own childhood or whatever...quite frankly, I don't give a damn.
Luckily (?), I'm surrounded by manipulative people who are also honest in their faulty fighting strategies and they're helping me understand ways to embrace people with this difficult personality.
Do you have someone in your life who's especially challenged in this department? How do you deal with it? Are you one of those manipulative assholes...I mean, friends? Please, friends, help me. How can I work through this?

Vacation(s)

2007-07-24T09:18:00.001-04:00

Ok, so, I'm going away on vacation next week and I'm sort of (read: completely) freaking out. I don't travel well and I haven't flown since 9/11. Not to mention, we couldn't get a direct flight to New England so it will be a 10 hour travel day. With a hypochondriac husband and whiny 6 1/2 year old. Oh fucking joy.
On the bright side, I've stocked up on medications such as Xanax and Valium.
Plus, I'll get to pick blueberries on real farms, have coffee and cigarettes in the mountains and visit with people I love the most. And 5 days with my family? I'm sure to return with some seriously funny writing material!
So, God, if you hear me, (no, it's not Margaret. It's Sophia. Remember me?) please, please make sure we arrive and return from our destination safely.
There! Positive thoughts put into the universe and whispered into God's giant ears. If you're the praying type, whisper some more for me, ok?

Much love, BITCHES!

The quest is finally over!

2007-07-24T09:00:00.002-04:00

Prelude: This post is about boobs. My boobs.

I didn't develop at an unusual age-I pretty much blossomed right along with my friends. Except, my boobs kept getting bigger and didn't stop until after I had the Chicken. I always used to read about girls who had animosity towards their chest, I wouldn't describe my feelings as animosity. No, I loved my boobs. I embraced them and put them up on a pedestal (ha!). If they'd had Girls Gone Wild on South Beach when I was actually old enough to be on GGW, I would totally be in one of those videos right now. (The early stages of GGW, people! Not the gross versions now where girls are making out, naked in the shower.) For all the love I've had for my breasts, I hate bras. Rather, bras hate me. I've never found a bra to fit me properly. In fact, I'm not even sure of my own bra size!
Go for a fitting, you say? Yeah, can't do that. See, I have an adversity to strangers feeling me up. Oh sure, I've tried to have fittings but every time I go to the fancy department store (read: not Target), the boobie "specialist" was either "training" (which my boobs are not) or just plain creeped me out. My friend, Stacey, has gone bra shopping with me but finding a great bra is like finding the perfect pair of ass jeans. Just not happening for me. Instead of bearing through the dreadful fitting, I continue to buy cheap, ill-fitting bras from Target.
Until last weekend. I bought several cheap (read: clearance!) bras from Wal Mart (ha!) that actually fit. Ok, so they sort of enhance the back fat but that's no thing a little camisole can't conceal. This is big news, folks!
And even though I seem to have found the perfect bras, I know there's lots of you out there with similar issues. What do you do?

Happy Birthday, America!

2007-07-05T11:27:00.002-04:00

I spent 6 hours cooking and cleaning for a (very, very) small gathering at our "crib" (I love ghetto) yesterday. Our guests included my mother and her "friend" Susan, Papi Gringo (also known as my wealthy, salsa dancing, Jewish-but-wants-to-be-Puerto Rican brother in law), Young Money (brother in law's 12 year old son who's voice is getting deeper as quick as he's becoming black) and our tiny little unit. It was nice. We had a lively debate about money and how it rates on the "happiness" charts, marriage and sex. You know, usual family discussions. (Oh, not your family? Well, welcome to mine.) We also watched comic Katt Williams-if you haven't seen him, try to youtube some of his stuff...especially if you love the ghetto-like me.

Now onto the real reason I'm writing today. I'm sad to tell you that, even though you've received little attention from me this summer, it's about to get a whole lot worse. Big Brother starts tonight and I've already got my live feeds going and basically, I'm a loser. But who asked you? Also, to my real life friends, please don't call me on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8-10pm. Thank you.

Oh, you thought it was a little joke I was writing? I'm not. BB is very serious for me...no one in my house gets any play when I've got live feeds on. In fact, I have the most in-depth conversations only with my mother (a bigger BB fan than I) to discuss strategy & other BB house stuff. It might be pathetic but it's the only TV I'm serious about watching. Give a sister some slack, ok?

The Apple Stain That Got Away

2007-06-27T23:17:00.001-04:00

I once threw an apple at my husband. Luckily, I have terrible aim and instead hit the soffit way above his head. Last week, he was touching up the walls and cleaned the 4 year old apple stain from the soffit and when I came home, there was a little twinge in my heart to see the missing stain. Every day for 4 years, that stain has been a reminder. A reminder of how bad things once were and a reminder of how we can overcome anything, especially apples.

Today marks 5 years we have been married & this September, we will celebrate 9 years as a couple.

Our relationship is a little tricky. There are certainly logistical challenges we face daily (one being a 14 year age difference) and sometimes, I'm not sure if they ever get better or we just get used to them (or not). People who see us together aren't always sure of what to make of "it". There's a lot of ribbing, insults and fat jokes thrown around in regular conversation and it can put people off a bit. What they don't often realize is the love that runs so far beyond me leaving the water out (on purpose) or him farting without spraying Oust. It's so deep, it cannot be seen with untrained eyes.

I hardly admit this to him (except, you know, now I am because I know he reads this blog. GO AWAY, DANNY!) but he's changed my life in ways I will never admit to. Aside from the obvious ways he's made me a better person, I truly owe my life to him.

dB, you took me out of the ghetto and helped shape me into the person I've become. You've helped me form the life that I've dreamed of since I can remember and without you, I'd be nobody. (The same goes for you, homie. After all, I do take 1/2 the credit for Communion's lead line.) I proudly stand behind you in every endeavor of our lives and your career; there is no one more protective than I. You stuck with it through my late teens and now my 20's because you knew the true person I was inside and in part due to you, that person has flourished. I love you for every risk and sacrifice you've made to allow me to become me. I have loved you since the very beginning and I'm so grateful I grew on you. And even though I'm slightly dented, I know you'd never trade this Rolls Royce. (Because I get half.)

Happy anniversary, stinky.

My Sister

2007-06-23T22:47:00.003-04:00

I'm going to spare everyone the back story of my sister and me and briefly mention that we came into each other's lives when I was 16 and she was 24. For the record, we are biological sisters and share a mother. (Confused yet?)
I'll never forget the first time I met her, I thought "we look nothing alike". We didn't need looks. We instantly have love. And the first time I talked to her on the phone (months before we met), I clearly remember standing in the kitchen after hanging up the phone and feeling like a small hole in my heart had just been repaired. I could have had any freak for a sister, someone who was opposite of me, who didn't "go" with me or frankly, didn't want anything to do with me. Instead, I got a sister who wanted me as much as I wanted her, who bonded with me in an instant and even though we weren't mirror personalities, I loved her fast. Later, people would comment on how great it was to have found each other and comment on the strong similarities, not in looks but in disposition. "You two sound exactly the same. You both talk fast and in the same rhythm. It's amazing." Those words came from the mother who raised her. Everyone around was surprised. And I was proud.
We were lucky enough to share pregnancies and she came to me, 6 weeks postpartum, to share in the labor of my daughter. I shall forever be indebted to her for her long 11 hours at my bedside (and ballside, rockerside and all the other fucked up positions they made me try). She shouted at the nurse when I was unhappy and shot looks at the doctor who suggested I couldn't do it. And she promised me it wouldn't hurt when they broke my water (she didn't lie).
Growing up, I was often the one in my family who was "strong". This was status quo for everyone from distant relatives to my mother. I carried many people at an age that I shouldn't have even been carrying myself and I never had anyone whom I could go and share my worst fears and deepest secrets. When my sister came along, she lifted a part of the burden. The burden of myself. She would allow middle of the night phone calls and irrational conversations. She continues to let me be myself in all of it's glory and misery. She lets me be the helpless child.
Within the past 9 years we've endured the roller coaster that traditional sisters ride. But inside the big picture, she tells me that I'm a great mom when I don't believe it and swears that I'm a good person when I'm in worst form.
In the past, my sister has credited me with many, many wonderful things. She announces to the Internet that often, I am her inspiration and has written words about me that not only caused deep emotion but rendered me speechless for a long time (a feat very few have accomplished).
Carianne, it is one of the greatest honors to be your inspiration. But truly, it's you that's inspired me to be much of who I am. You came into my life at a point where I was a very lost child and you guided me, showed me how to be a good person and mother by example without even trying. It's you that makes it look effortless and it's been my desire to be just like my big sister.
We may not have grown up together but I honestly could not have chosen a better sibling. Our connection and my admiration, love for you runs so much deeper than the blood line we share. I look forward to the rest of our lives where we'll always be making up for lost time.
So, thank you, for letting me be your little sister.

P.S. Top this one, bitch!

Cap'n Crunch

2007-06-23T00:18:00.002-04:00

How come it's not "Captain Crunch"? This is really bugging me now. Whatever, the point is, I've rediscovered my love for this cereal. Yummo.

I know that I promised two additional blogs this week and I haven't delivered but I don't think it's actually been 1 week so I still have some time (hours). I'm trying to write about my sister and as I've said before, I start in my head and I'm just not sure how much to tell & how much to withhold. She said I could say anything I wanted but for me, it needs to be some of my best writing. I like her that much. Plus, I'm not really sure what to call her live-in lesbian lover girlfriend. I call that person my sister-in-law but what's the PC term?

In the meantime, I've been stalling by filling out some myspace surveys which I happen to know that the people on my friends list find very annoying. Hey assholes, you don't have to open & read them, ya know? Control freaks, I tell you! But perhaps I've been wasting my wit & charisma on those silly questionnaires.

A couple of updates: It looks like we're getting that big contract at work that I wrote about before. They promised me the contract this week...I didn't get it in my hands yet but I believe I will. THE COMPANY WILL GO ON!
Second, there are a couple of Trip Theory shows coming up in the South Florida area. I'll post more information when available.
Lastly, I have a really great story in my head about a friend of mine (and by friend, I mean really annoying person that gets on my nerves so I avoid at all costs) but she may or may not read this blog so I cannot post. But if you want to know, email me & I'll tell you the story.

Check again, soon. Sister story is coming, I swear! AND, I'll post a picture of us. That will be worth the wait. She's just as pretty as me.

Kara & the benefits of girlfriends (and danger of none)

2007-06-17T00:48:00.001-04:00

At my age (that would be 25), I imagined I would have a tight circle of girlfriends. Where we'd sing a drunken rendition of "Lean On Me" in the football field of our old high school and exchange poopie stories of our children whilst they played lovingly in the front yard, complete with tire swing. As I write (type?) this, I can actually visualize this in my mind.
But you know, none of it materializes. And if I'm going to be completely honest; I have no girlfriends.
When I was entering the "tender" years of my life (read: preteen & young adulthood), there was 4 of us. But as I grew older, I grew apart. The rest of them didn't (except the one who isn't with us anymore). They still talk and occasionally enjoy each other's company while I'm over here, ALONE, in hell (also known as the smallest place 3 people can live). (Where's my mama? Because the drama is overflowing!) It wasn't really their fault. You know the story: girl meets boy, girl's mother abandons her for New England, girl moves in with boy, gets knocked up & lives happily ever after. Oh? That's not the story you meant? Anyway, I moved less than a hour away but for me, each mile apart felt like 100.
Since then, I haven't felt the security of having a "best friend" around. I still have Jess, and we talk once in a while but not in the gut-wrenching ways that girlfriends talk.
And I have Kara. She lives two hours away but still has guided me in ways that I've needed yet missed for the last 9 years. She came to visit me last weekend & I learned about the beauty of flat-ironed hair. We also talked for a long time about a lot yet nothing. When she left, I had that sinking feeling in my chest again. I suspect this feeling is loneliness.
There is something missing, a small piece of my soul is absent. My (good) sister thinks this is because somewhere along the line, I lost myself. I disagree. I think all of me is here only to be awakened by the benefits of having a friend. One of complete unselfishness & agendas where similarly, differences, kindness and compassion runs deep and bonds.

I mentioned in a previous post that I'm taking a writing class. I'm telling everyone it's because I want to be a better writer (which is true) but really, I'm taking it to meet people (my reasons extend further than those two reasons; you'll see in later posts). My life is pretty limited in opportunity to meet new strangers (is that a double?) as my life is fairly limited in itself. I work for a company which employs 5 people (3 of whom are men), my child attends a school where there are less than 150 students and the moms generally suck.

(Feel free to insert the standard paragraph about how lucky I am to have my life, I wouldn't trade it for the world, blah blah blah.)

I want to gossip about celebrities, trade make-up tips & hair styles. I want to talk about my husband and child without the faint smell of competition. I want to look at pretty men in the mall and exchange knowing glances.

So, I'm embarking on this new quest to find myself a real friend. Wish me luck!

And then I scratched my butt!

2007-06-17T00:44:00.002-04:00

On writing: I'm a bad blog keeper-I get it. I know the secret to a super blog is posting nearly everyday but lately I feel like my writing is left with much to be desired. (Say it ain't so, boss!)
In an attempt to ignite the fire and connect my brain to my hand(s), I'm taking a writing class this year. I hope it will tap into the passion like you tap a keg thingie into a tree for maple syrup. You know what I'm talking about, don't give me that look!

So, I promise to you (mostly to myself) to write about the following subjects within one week of today:

My sister(s)
Kara & the benefits of girlfriends (and the danger of none)
DA FUNK!

I don't know that any of those items will reflect my best work but at least I'll be using that mushed up, pink (!) brain of mine.

Please come back & see!

The 90/10 Principle

2007-06-07T10:03:00.001-04:00

As "borrowed" from another blog. I'm so trying this-starting immediately! If you try it, too, let me know how it works out for you & I promise to keep a quasi-updated record on how it's going for me.

Discover the 90/10 Principle. It will change your life (at least the way you react to situations).What is this principle?10% of life is made up of what happens to you.90% of life is decided by how you react.What does this mean?We really have no control over 10% of what happens to us. We cannot stop the car from breaking down. The plane will be late arriving, which throws our whole schedule off. A driver may cut us off in traffic. We have no control over this 10%. The other 90% is different. You determine the other 90%.How? By your reaction. You cannot control a red light., but you can control your reaction. Don’t let people fool you; YOU can control how you react.

Let’s use an example.You are eating breakfast with your family. Your daughter knocks over a cup of coffee onto your business shirt. You have no control over what just what happened. What happens when the next will be determined by how you react. You curse. You harshly scold your daughter for knocking the cup over. She breaks down in tears. After scolding her, you turn to your spouse and criticize her for placing the cup too close to the edge of the table. A short verbal battle follows. You storm upstairs and change your shirt. Back downstairs, you find your daughter has been too busy crying to finish breakfast and get ready for school. She misses the bus. Your spouse must leave immediately for work. You rush to the car and drive your daughter to school. Because you are late, you drive 40 miles an hour in a 30 mph speed limit. After a 15-minute delay and throwing $60 traffic fine away, you arrive at school. Your daughter runs into the building without saying goodbye. After arriving at the office 20 minutes late, you find you forgot your briefcase. Your day has started terrible. As it continues, it seems to get worse and worse. You look forward to coming home, When you arrive home, you find small wedge in your relations hip with your spouse and daughter.

Why? Because of how you reacted in the morning. Why did you have a bad day?A) Did the coffee cause it?B) Did your daughter cause it?C) Did the policeman cause it?D) Did you cause it?The answer is D.You had no control over what happened with the coffee. How you reacted in those 5 seconds is what caused your bad day. Here is what could have and should have happened. Coffee splashes over you. Your daughter is about to cry. You gently say, “It’s ok honey, you just need, to be more careful next time”. Grabbing a towel you rush upstairs. After grabbing a new shirt and your briefcase, you come back down in time to look through the window and see your child getting on the bus. She turns and waves. You arrive 5 minutes early and cheerfully greet the staff. Your boss comments on how good the day you are having.Notice the difference? Two different scenarios. Both started the same. Both ended different. Why? Because of how you REACTED. You really do not have any control over 10% of what happens. The other 90% was determined by your reaction. Here are some ways to apply the 90/10 principle.

If someone says something negative about you, don’t be asponge. Let the attack roll off like water on glass. You don’thave to let the negative comment affect you! React properly andit will not ruin your day. A wrong reaction could result inlosing a friend, being fired, getting stressed out etc.

How do you react if someone cuts you off in traffic? Do youLose your temper? Pound on the steering wheel? A friend of minehad the steering wheel fall off) Do you curse? Does your bloodpressure skyrocket? Do you try and bump them? WHO CARES if youarrive ten seconds later at work? Why let the cars ruin yourdrive? Remember the 90/10 principle, and do not worry about it.

You are told you lost your job. Why lose sleep and getirritated? It will work out. Use your worrying energy and timeinto finding another job.
The plane is late; it is going to mangle your schedule for theday. Why take out your frustration on the flight attendant? Shehas no control over what is going on. Use your time to study,get to know the other passenger. Why get stressed out? It willjust make things worse. Now you know the 90-10 principle. Applyit and you will be amazed at the results. You will lose nothingif you try it.

The 90-10 principle is incredible. Very few know and apply this principle. The result? Millions of people are suffering from undeserved stress,trials,problems and heartache. There never seem to be a success in life. Bad days follow bad days. Terrible things seem to be constantly happening. There is constant stress, lack of joy, and broken relationships. Worry consumes time. Anger breaks friendships and life seems dreary and is not enjoyed to the fullest. Friends are lost. Life is a bore and often seems cruel. Does this describe you? If so, do not be discouraged.
You can be different! Understand and apply the 90/10 principle. It will change your life

B is for Boy, I'm sore!

2007-05-29T09:53:00.001-04:00

Last Christmas, my husband's partner (Studio partner, not lover. That would be awkward.) gave me the Billy Bootcamp (as in Billy Banks, the Tae-Bo guy) DVD set complete with workout band. I thought this was a joke and expected to open the box and find really nice jewelry or a gift certificate (because usually, he gives me super great gifts) but when I opened the box and it actually was Billy Bootcamp, I was pretty offended. And disappointed! The plan was to return Billy Bootcamp (it was a $40 set!) but Chicken opened the DVDs so it's been collecting dust on my bedroom floor since December 26th.

Husband keeps complaining his shirts feel a little tight and I should start cooking healthy dinners. I can barley munster up the energy, creativity and time to put a frozen lasagna in the oven. (For the record, I'm actually a pretty good cook. But I'm also lazy.) I jokingly said he should use Billy Bootcamp! He took this in seriousness. That was 2 months ago. Everyday is "the" day he's going to Bootcamp!

So, you'll imagine my surprise when I came home Saturday evening to find my husband in
this position (the same outfit, too!). I had Subway in hand for dinner and dropped it all on the floor and followed the sandwiches by laughing until I nearly peed. It was quite the sight. When I was finished making fun, I looked @ the DVD player run clock which read 4:30 (as in 4 minutes, 30 seconds). Realizing I had food, he turned off the DVD player.

For the following 2 days, he moaned and groaned about the pain after 4:30 of aerobic stretching and I laughed more with each vision in my head.

Last night, after eating a lot of food (and cake), he "worked out" again. This time, I joined him. We went a whole 12 minutes, 20 seconds.

And now, muscles and ligaments hurt in my body that I forgot existed. While "stretching" I recalled my days as a speed skater and having to do the same exact stretches.

Except back then, I actually could touch my toes and plant my face on the floor.

Really! I'm Ok!

2007-05-29T09:09:00.001-04:00

Lots of people get jacked up after a long weekend; sometimes it can be hard to adjust. "Is it Tuesday? Feels like Monday." And so on. This is no problem for me, though because my week was going to be jacked up regardless!

I'm working today and tomorrow I'm off to attend the Carnival Day @ Chicken's school which I've spend the past 3 weeks organizing (see below). THEN! As if that were not enough, Chicken's last day of school is Thursday but it's a 1/2 day so they get out @ Noon. And Friday is the official mark of summer for the kiddies.

Yeah, I'd better load up on some kind of pain reliever.

At work, I'm bidding on a new contract which will essentially make or break this company. If I get it, we'll be comfortable enough to distribute regular bonuses (like we used to) and perhaps have more than a few quarters in petty cash. Maybe we'll even get a refrigerator! (Over a year in this office and STILL no refrigerator. But we did finally get a water cooler which of course, means we're legit.) On the darker side, if I don't get this contract, this will probably be our last year in business. But you know, no pressure. Normally, I would lure the potential customer with my extremely good looks but they're based out of state which poses a real problem. Now I only have to go on my personality and charm. We're fucked, aren't we?

Our school placed 6th in the entire state for national testing scores. This would be a big deal to any school but our school? We go all out. We decided to hold a "Carnival Day" for the kids on the second to last day of school complete with small game booths, treats and a hot dog lunch! Because, you know, it being the SECOND TO LAST DAY OF SCHOOL! isn't enough excitement. Sometimes, I'm a sucker (ok, most times). When the principal casually asked me for a brainstorming meeting a month ago, I assumed she wanted to look at me for a while. But when she started to talk, I still hadn't realized I was being roped. That actually did not occur to me until last week when the pressure was on. Oh! I was supposed to create, organize and prepare Carnival Day! D'oh. Originally, the school was going to buy everything we needed because there happened to be a little bit of spending money left over in the budget. (Which I would attribute to me because I've spent so much time and money there, they haven't had to pay a single model.) Then some jackass (read: teacher) thought it would be silly! to SPEND the money the parents have donated. Instead, lets ask them to donate more stuff! During the last week of school. Yes, yes. Good idea. OH! And don't send out the notice to parents until FRIDAY. Friday was also the day all the children cleaned out their desks and took junk home. Plus, Monday was a holiday. That leaves TODAY. One lonely, single day to gather all of the supplies, set up all the classrooms and apply extra hairspray.

Again: we're fucked.

Where did I put the liquor?

Dammit, Karen!

2007-05-08T23:17:00.001-04:00

No, not my actual friend Karen. I think it's a term taken from a mob movie but I stole the saying from another friend, Shilah.

Anyway, so far this week, I've:

-inserted a small memory stick into a large floppy disk hole and cannot get it out
-left my keys in my husband's vehicle and he's gone to work until tomorrow
-burned several pieces of bacon
-forgot my camera when going to visit a brand new baby
-still have not paid for show tickets at Olivia's school (they were due last Friday)

All of this and it's only Tuesday.

Rut-ro, Shaggy.

Slippin'

2007-05-03T11:52:00.001-04:00

I try to come across as well-spoken, intelligent and quasi-classy. However, sometimes, the ghetto comes out and it's a little embarrassing. Yesterday, I spent the day @ Chicken's school (more on that later) and while discussing some Carnival Day booth options with the principal, I said about a dunk tank set up, "That's wack". They (said principal and other teachers surrounding us) thought it was really funny because I don't generally speak in such a manner but I was mortified. In hindsight, it was pretty hilarious because it was completely impulsive and shocking but on the flip side, I heard the principal use it in conversation with another parent this morning. Now that is funny listening.
In accordance with the ghetto; I'm seriously slippin'. Or is it trippin'? I don't know, I don't actually live in the real ghetto anymore (just behind the ghetto) so I'm losing my terminology.
This is the second week I haven't done Wunnerful Word Wednesday, I'm so disappointed in myself. I promised a weekly feature and I couldn't even get past week 1 but I promise to try and do better!
So I took the day off from work yesterday to chaperon a field trip at school and ended up spending the entire day there. The day flew by in such a flurry of excitement and promise, I was sad to leave at 4pm. When I came home and reflected on my day, I realized it was the best weekday that I've had in years. I know I said my job is perfect for my lifestyle but I can't help but notice that I feel more and more unfulfilled with each coming day. Silly monkey job is so unimportant, it disturbs me. Not that my position isn't important but the work we do doesn't make a difference in people's lives and I'm just very sad about the entire situation. Perhaps because there doesn't seem to be any kind of promising light at the end of this tunnel is why I'm feeling more pressure on myself. Whatever it is, I'm getting a serious itch. I need to do something that makes me feel good about myself as a person. I want to help people, make a difference and come home every afternoon feeling like I've done good with my day. Not just answer phones, tell men where to go and gossip all day.
Any suggestions?

Too Bizarre For a Title!

2007-04-29T00:13:00.001-04:00

Remember when I told you that there was a strange smell in Chicken's bedroom that smelled like pee?
As it turns out, that's because it is pee.

See, what happened was:
Husband got new costumes for his music group, Spacemen and I was trying to get everything organized for the show last night so I put the old costumes & helmets in her room on Wednesday. Thursday morning, the room reeked. I thought it must have been the costumes but I repeatedly asked Chicken if she had an accident which she insisted she did not.
Fast forward to Friday (yesterday), I took the costumes out of the room and the smell didn't follow. She slept at Grammy's and when she came home, it was still a-stankin'! I asked again, she said she did not have an accident. Then she blurted this out: "I peed in a pink tin."

Come again?

Yeah. Apparently, my daughter, always the curious, decided she wanted to see what it would be like to pee in a pink tin (which about the size of a shoe box) so she did. And the pee has been rotting away for just over a week.

One day, when she is dating or perhaps even married, I will tell this strange story of when she peed in a pink tin.

Until then, we're all still peeing in pink tins from laughter of the situation. But we still can't figure out why.

T-Minus 24 Hours & Counting

2007-04-26T22:33:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow night, Husband has a VERY! IMPORTANT! SHOW! locally of which I have some VERY! SERIOUS! RESPONSIBILITIES! that I'm not really looking forward to.
And I have a gazillion things to finish tonight before I return to silly monkey job tomorrow. Instead of doing those things, I'm writing. Because it makes me feel better. And I've had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (like Alexander).
In tune with my procrastination, I will list all of the things I still need to do. I like lists, they make me feel in control. In fact, every Saturday morning, I sit down and make a list of all of the productive things I'm going to do this weekend. Never mind that most of the time, the list is lost, thrown away, folded into a million pieces, used as scrap for Olivia or hidden in the couch cushions.

Here we go:
-Clean the filthy bathroom (total emphasis on "filthy")
-Vacuum half the floor (because I already did one half)
-Mop kitchen
-Finish laundry (one load in the dryer, 4 more to go!)
-Figure out where the pee/fish smell is coming from in Chicken's room (she swears she didn't have an accident. Hrmm.)
-Pack Chicken's clothes (for she will be staying with the Grammy. Don't forget sunscreen.)
-Make a list of things to pack for Chicken
-Iron my vast selection of outfits for tomorrow night (there are 5 different "looks" in the running)
-Fluff pillows (because I like to)

That entire list adds up to a gazillion in my head, ok?

In the spirit of creative writing, I'll tell you a little bit about today. But only a little because you know who's a-lurkin' around here.
I performed stage 2 of a big argument with Husband about nothing, really (we're over it now, in case you were worried). Then I went to work and realized that I continue to surround myself by stupid, useless men and wondered why I stay at a job that I usually find highly unfulfilled. While in a heated debate with myself over that very subject, I remembered that I have dream hours, excellent pay, generous benefits, freedom and flexibility at that silly monkey job and talked myself down the window sill. (It's a good thing, too, I was really going to jump. Except I work in a 1 story building. But I could have scratched myself on the rose bush below.) I proceeded home only to enter into a bigger mess than when I left. So I stormed out to meet my nail appointment. Then I bought two new pairs of shoes. And now I'm happy.

So I shall go do one of those a-gazillion things I keep talking about.

PS-I know I didn't do Wunnerful Word Wednesday but I'm going to, I promise.

It Could Happen To You!

2007-04-24T11:48:00.001-04:00

Wouldn't it be funny if:

Your husband had major surgery which nearly killed him 5 years ago?
And left a actual, visible hole in his stomach for 2 years?
Then he had the hole repaired,
And the doctor's office told you insurance never paid for the original surgery?
So you do the right thing and battle with said insurance company for months to get the doctor paid?
Then you don't hear from the doctor's office for 2 more years and naturally assume the bill has been paid,
Until you receive a final collection notice on behalf of the doctor's office threatening to steal then sell your blood unless you pay them $8,000.00?
And when you dispute the collections notice, the collectors call you a deadbeat and hang up?
This all happens when you're about to buy a new house and have spent a year cleaning up your credit?

My Journey

2007-04-24T11:39:00.001-04:00

Money cannot buy me happiness.

But money can buy me things.

And I like things.

Interview Meme

2007-04-23T08:45:00.001-04:00

Another blog I regularly read is Solo Mom. Go read her. Now. She's funny.
In the meantime, she kindly sent me this interview meme. Enjoy!

If you'd like me to interview you, do this:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Now onto the good stuff.

1. George W Bush, Demon or Demigod? Why?
It's my opinion that he is too stupid to be a demon, he's a puppet in the "Cheney Show". How we ever elected a president that cannot put two words together is beyond me. (Don't look at me. I didn't vote for him!) I believe we are in a (losing) war that is beyond illegal for money with complete disregard to the thousands (over 3 thousand Americans) of young people who've died for nothing. (I support the troops, just not the people who sent them there.) I could write an entire essay of how this Administration has gone wrong but I wont. At least not today.

2. Who was your very first teen idol crush?
Promise not to laugh? I loved New Kids on the Block, which I know everyone did but I daydreamed about Jonathan Knight (he was known as the ugly one). Something about him was very charming-especially when I had his face plastered on several of my Bedazzled tshirts (complete with MC Hammer pants!!).

3. What is your earliest memory?
I can remember things as early as 2 years old but I see them in my head as snapshots, not as motion memories. I can remember being 2 1/2 years old, living in a seedy apartment in downtown Lake Worth with my mother; she just started dating my step dad when my biological father came over in a rage and kicked in the new TV set. I see that one moving through my head like a still picture show. My first actual, vivid memory is of my 4th birthday party (Strawberry Shortcake themed) and my biological father came from New York to celebrate at my party and he made chocolate cupcakes with white frosting and a sliced strawberries. When I discovered that I would not, in fact, be able to open my presents as they arrived, I threw myself under the bar and graced my guests with one of my famous temper tantrums. And the song that was playing in my head? "It's my party & I'll cry if I want to, cryyy if I want to, cryyy if I want to. You would cry too if it happened to youuuuu." (Seriously)

4. What do you want to be when you grow up?
A mom, always. I'm pretty much living the life I always dreamed of and for that I feel very lucky. During Middle & High school, I wanted to be a lawyer. Mostly because my teachers told me I should be - because I had a big mouth, an argument for everything and I was (am?) very stubborn. I think they used lawyer as code word for "freakin' psycho bitch student". I'm not sure, though.

5. If you could only do one or the other, would you choose to read blogs or write your own?
Great question. I think I'd chose to read blogs because 1) I'm not that narcissistic (oh, who am I kidding-yes I am) and 2) I get so much from reading other's writing and I could always write blogs in my head for myself (I pretty much do that most of the time, anyway). The humor and good sense I receive from other people's blogs is irreplaceable.

My Erin Brockovich Moment

2007-04-19T09:49:00.001-04:00

Chicken attends a very small charter school here, which houses just under 150 students in a tiny facility. Our library is shared with the kitchen, faculty bathroom, Dean's office and planning office. We're small but tight; there for one purpose: a better education.
Since 2002, our school has been trying to get the Town to approve site plans for a NEW! BIG! school which will house 18 classrooms, a cafenasium (cafeteria/gymnasium/assembly hall), real library, sports field and many other amenities that we've given up in exchange for higher education (trust me, it's proven well worth it). Last night was the final Town Hall meeting where the Mayor & his peeps would make a decision. Notices were posted all over school this week: "Please support our new school!" "Vote YES to the expansion!", etc. Everyone was given notice but we all knew who would actually show up, many of us were called by the principal, specifically asking us to speak. I was one of them. "Many parents are too intimidated to speak, I knew you wouldn't be. Please talk at the Town meeting on behalf of all the parents." she asked me. I thought, that's a pretty tall order. I'm loud, I'm opinionated and sometimes, well spoken but I can't go in front of the entire municipality, on local TV and beg them to give us the opportunity to build a new school.
Luckily, I had dinner plans. But my dinner plans were cancelled and I participated in an event that is a metamorphosis in my life.
The meeting began at exactly 6:30pm, we arrived in strong numbers, 50+ parents, many of us with our children. We're last on the long agenda. Short, stout with big frizzy hair, a former councilwoman said to us "If you're here for the charter school, you won't be heard until at least 10pm." "Well," we thought, "we have important people here. Lawyers, engineers, architects and investors. Surely, they'll see our children and let us go early." They did not. By 9pm, our number were less by more than half.
At 10:20, they called our item: 4.23 on the agenda. The lawyers spoke, the architect spoke, our principal spoke and I spoke (along with a few other parents). I made direct eye contact with the Mayor and our district councilwoman and told them I live, work, play and my daughter goes to school right here in Town. I told them the story of Chicken's early reading skills and how our puny school took her in, accommodated her skill and how she's flourished. I spoke eloquently, my voice didn't quiver (shockingly) and towards the end, I cried a little.
The Mayor voted against us, the council people voted for us and we won. Like in Erin Brockovich, we jumped out of our seats, sleeping babies and all, with screams and endless hugs.
In 5 years, my daughter will be one of the first students to enter our huge, 2 story, several acre school as a middle-school student.
And I will forever remember this day, this feeling and our powerful victory.

Not as in Pretty Hot And Tempting (PHAT)

2007-04-18T09:44:00.001-04:00

It used to be the fatter I got, the skinner I felt. When I revisit photos of myself from 5 years ago, I relish in my skinniness, it's amazing that 10 years ago, at a size 7, I thought I was fat. Oh, how I wish.
I used to say that God makes me stay fat because if I were skinny, I'd dress like a skank-ass hoe (Not to be confused with "nappy-headed ho". Please don't fire me.), wildly inappropriate to show all my skinniness.
When I pass a mirror, door or large framed picture and see my own, ever expanding figure, I think "Who IS that person?". Not along ago, I had the confidence that screamed "I may LOOK like Carnie Wilson (pre-surgery, of course) but I feel like Jessica Biel! I don't feel like that anymore. I don't want to be the fat girl married to that amazing guy from Spacemen anymore, I want to be able to shop with the rest of the people my age, in all that cuteness. It is not fashionable to be fat, no matter how much he tells me I look beautiful. I still feel like a fat girl trying to dress like a skinny one.
So today is the day!
Ok, maybe not today because I've already got dinner plans to make lasagna for my very beautiful and trendy friend. You can't have a special dinner without special dessert (which is to be determined).
Today isn't the day. But tomorrow is the day! No more chocolate cake for breakfast! No more Kit Kats for lunch! I'll eat salad! I'll eat half portions! I will work out (almost) everyday until I lose 50lbs.
This means, of course, that I'll have to give up the full fat mayonnaise and ice cream, which is very sad (although Hagan-Daas makes a really good S'mores ice cream in 1/3 fat). And I love McDonald's greasy fries, especially when they're hot.
On the bright side, if I loose weight, I won't look pregnant anymore and perhaps will actually get pregnant!

Wunnderful Word Wednesday

2007-04-18T08:46:00.001-04:00

I read lots of other mom's blogs but my favorite is wouldashouldacoulda, Mir is insightful, funny and very bright. She features "Love Thursdays" where she posts something obscenely mushy and quickly puts you in a good mood with all of her love.
In honor of Love Thursdays (in honor of or just stealing the idea? You decide.), I'm going to start a weekly feature, too!
Wunnerful Word Wednesdays!
I realized that while my vocabulary is quite large, expanding it wouldn't hurt. So every Wednesday, I'll pick a new (to me), interesting word and use it in my post! (Plus, it'll guarantee a new post every Wednesday!)

How does one know that they're about to fall off the edge? Perhaps, for me, it is wearing fuzzy, pink bedroom slippers to work on accident (or subconsciously on purpose) two days in a row. Maybe the 4 hour nap I took yesterday was a big warning sign.
There is a looming, vapid feeling my life this week. A feeling that I just cannot shake or pin point, it's just there. The tragic events on Monday at VA Tech, I hope, has contributed but I keep feeling like there is something else. Is something missing?
I thought for sure this month would be the month I discovered I'm pregnant but sadly, awoke yesterday to discover it is not, in fact, the month.
On the surface I'm able to foster a quasi-smile but anyone who knows me is aware that this cannot last long. Soon the quasi-smile will transgress and I will just be sad. I can only fake myself through this life for so long.
I sense a whole lot of guilt these days. Guilt for taking that 4 hour nap, leaving Husband with Chicken, guilt for not getting the laundry out of the dryer before it wrinkled, Chicken-imposed guilt for forgetting to pack her a drink in her lunchbox last week (she's still bitching about it) and guilt for not having a funny, positive blog post for days.
Tonight, we have dinner guests, people that we adore and are great fun (and hopefully, a distraction). I will make lasagna and drink lots of wine and laugh a million laughs.
Lets just hope my quasi-smile doesn't expire before then.

Vapid (vap-id); adjective - lacking or having lost life, sharpness or flavor

Just Can't. Not Today.

2007-04-17T09:00:00.001-04:00

I had a couple of ideas rolling around in my head yesterday, a long laundry list of things I wanted to write about. Yesterday, around 11am, I sat down at my work desk to write (it's slow, what can I tell ya?). I opened the Internet to find "Breaking News". I am sorry that I clicked because it would be the start of a possibly endless feeling of sorrow and sadness.
Everyone, everywhere in the country is talking about the tragedy at VA Tech University. My favorite morning radio show dj's are discussing it and one is completely outraged by the apparent lack of communication by the school to students.
Today is going to be one day that I'll not state my own opinions. I'm not sure what my opinions are, I haven't been able to take it that far.
I know this: I'm feeling completely empty, shocked and devastated. My heart feels so full that I cannot cry, much like it did when I was a rebellious teenager with no one to confide in.
With no control over the situation, no way to reach out and touch the lives of the wounded and families of the dead. By helping them, I can comfort myself?

Until I can make my own sense and come to terms with what happened yesterday, I'm going to pray that I'll finally cry and hold my baby tight.

Pixie Power!

2007-04-16T08:45:00.001-04:00

Chicken got all A's & 1's on her 3rd quarter report card. "What would you like to do for your reward?" I said, beaming with pride. "I want my haircut short!" she gleefully answered.

Hm. Haircut? Before we go into detail, let me bring you back. Way back.

My grandmother, overwhelmed with 4 children and a military husband, kept her only daughter's (that would be my mother) hair very. very. short. This was scarring to my poor mother who had beautiful, bright blond hair that many New Englanders envied (even during the dark winter months). I believe my grandmother forced this "hair style" (I use the quotes on style seriously) on my mother for at least 12 or 13 years.

Remember this story when I tell you what happened 15 years later.

After a long struggle to get pregnant by my father (even though they were no longer in any kind of relationship. Hm. No wonder why I'm so screwed up!), I was finally born in 1981. And I was a girl! I didn't have beautiful blond hair that would forever link me to the Snell gene but I had thick black hair and that was good enough!

So began the 16 year battle my mother and I would have over hair. She kept my hair very. very. long. When I was 7, my mom thought it would be a GREAT! idea if I had a perm (hey, it was 1988, everyone did it, don't make fun!) and clearly did not follow the beautician's advise NOT to perm my hair (she took my mother's $40 and did it anyway). I distinctly remember the beautician telling my mother that she should wait until I was 10 to treat my hair since at the ripe age of 7, I still had "baby hair" (you can imagine my horror) and the chemicals may not "take". I remember the smell of the potion clearly (a cross between ammonia and burning follicles). The perm didn't take (surely because I had "baby hair". Ugh) and I was left with a luxurious head of long, dirty blond hair so thick that you couldn't wrap a single hand around it all.

I wonder if this was the point where my mother decided she would live vicariously through my head? Because for the next 10 years, I was forbidden to do anything to my hair. Especially cut it! I vividly remember arguments (visualize hands flying very fast but no sound) that I lost every time. "When you're 18 and not living in my house, you can do what you want. Until then, you may not ever. touch. your. hair!" "But it's MY hair!" was my argument every time. (Hard to believe I didn't win with that, eh?) When I was 14, I dyed my hair blonder because my dirty blond was not bright enough! Surprisingly, she was ok with this (remember her own, very proud head of very bright blond hair) but I was reminded that I could. not. cut. my. hair!

On my 16 birthday, I realized something: "I have a car. I have a job. I can do whatever I want!" And so I drove to Kool Cuts (why the K for cool, no K for cuts? I'll never know.), Home of the $7 haircut (seriously), gave the nice lady my $7 and asked her to cut my waist-long hair to my shoulders. She tied it in a pony tail and with one swift cut, gone was my hair. She put the pony tail in a brown paper bag (in case I wanted to reattach it?) and I brought it home to my mother. She cried. And she threw things. And she cursed me. And she saved that brown bag with my hair (creepily, she still has it).

When my own daughter came to me, wanting her hair cut, I had traumatic flash backs to all of those wasted battles against my mother. I decided (against Husband's opinion-what does he know?) that she was old enough to decide how she wanted her hair to look.

After all, it is HER hair.

Sometimes, I'm not at all funny

2007-04-12T09:37:00.001-04:00

I really wanted this blog to be light-hearted and funny. Like me! So I must apologize in advance to all my old (and new) readers who came here looking for comedy relief only to find political speak. I promise to get back in the hilarious swing of things very soon.

In the meantime, I'd like to take this time to welcome everyone to my new writing haven! I'm so excited about this and have a running list of things I can't wait to write about in addition to stories about my funny life. Hopefully, you'll find me interesting and readable, I often write how I talk: fast, long-winded and in circles.

Until I can sit down and write a proper description and introduction (very soon! Like, tonight!), please browse through my archives and see for yourself how funny, smart (and pretty) I am!

Don Imus

2007-04-12T08:43:00.001-04:00

Caution: This post may be found offensive by some readers. My opinions reflect me and only me. Besides, it's my blog and I can write about whatever I want to. SO THERE!

In case you've been off on a space tourist mission launching from Katzastan with specially created astronaut meals created by my woman-lover, Martha Stewart, you're probably well aware of the controversy surrounding Nationally syndicated CBS morning talk show host, Mr. Don Imus this week. He referred to a mostly black, women's college basketball team as "nappy-headed hoes".

Please let the record show: I do not support Mr. Imus' comments.

A national uproar has stemmed from these statements, especially from the black community (and rightfully so). Prestigious figures and companies are criticizing, boycotting and calling for the firing of Mr. Imus. MSNBC (who televises his radio broadcast daily) has already dropped his show, saying "It was the only decision we could come to." I am all for boycotting and speaking out against him; it's the American way. African-Americans protested the public transportation system and won. That's a great example of how speaking out and withholding your money (equals power) will send shock waves throughout. However, I am hurt by the MSNBC firing and the possibility of CBS letting Mr. Imus go.
Where did our constitutional right of Freedom of Speech go?
In my opinion, Mr. Imus made a bad joke in very poor taste. That's what he does, he's part shock jock, part commentator. If you review just a few of his decades-long transcripts, you'll find he's said far harsher words. It's his shtick to be offensive and he's an equal opportunity basher. Think Howard Stern with less sex and more politics. It's his job (which he's been very successful) to be shocking and perverse. Don did not go on a drunken hate tirade. He did not respond to hecklers in an angry, racist rant. He said a joke. A very bad joke. I don't believe it was with hateful intentions; he thought he was funny (he wasn't and quickly realized it).
With Freedom of Speech comes the responsibility to be held accountable for your words so criticizing and boycotting him is the American way. It's how we should respond when we're offended. Now that we've got the thought police intruding on opinions, jokes and conversations, I believe we're in severe danger.
Aside from my opinions on Freedom of Speech and this situation, I feel sorry for Mr. Imus.
He's simply the victim of "the art of distraction". Because this administration thinks they're so much smarter than the American public, they blind us with useless news. In case no one has noticed, we're in the middle of a (n illegal) war. Thousands of people, OUR people, have died for oil and contract money. Where is the outrage for that? Sure, plenty of people are protesting but no major news network is reporting any of it. Instead, we're consumed by Anna Nicole's death and Brangelina's next adoption. Do not be fooled by Freedom of Press. The current administration is controlling all of what we see and hear.
How many of you have heard or read about the awful conditions of William Reed Hospital in Washington DC? Where our troops are coming back from Iraq without limbs and being cared for in dire and disgusting conditions. How many of you have heard or read about the terminal illnesses the first responders of 9/11 are suffering from? They will soon be dying at alarming rates from all of the debris and disease they inhaled on that day. Why isn't that breaking news? Because it's not glamorous and pretty? I refuse to buy into that. We, the American people, cannot be that shallow and petty. If you read or watch any news outlets outside of America (such as BBC America), you'll see the actual news and the tragedy our forces are suffering daily (not to mention the suffering of the innocent in Iraq).
I am saddened by the future of our country. We are headed for bad times unless people start standing up and speaking out for themselves, our Constitution and what's really important.

Busted - Part Deux

2007-04-09T22:34:00.001-04:00

Remember when I told you my story of being busted by a school bus full of kids while dancing?
Well, it's happened again. Only this time it wasn't a school bus full of kids. It was a Honda Civic with 4 teenagers inside.
And it was during the same. damn. song!
To celebrate this, here are the lyrics to the song I love so much. You can also find the video on youtube. Maybe now I'll get over it and quit dancing like a fool in the street.

Jagged Edge Let's Get Married (reception Remix) Lyrics

JD: This here Is a remarkable
So-so def...remix
J.E. y'all
Run-DMC
To the beat y'all
A-ha...A-ha
And me...y'all know my name
C'mon

Jagged Edge:
See first of all (Yeah)
I know these so-called playa'z wouldn't tell you this (What?)
But I'm go be real and say what's on my mind (Yeah)
Let's take this chance and make this love feel relevant
Didn't you know I loved you from the start? (Yo)
Yeah.....
When I think about (Uh-huh, huh)
All these years we put in this relationship (Yeah)
Who'll knew we'd make it this far? Then I think about (Uh-huh)
Where would I be if we were just to fall apart?
And I can't stand the thought of leaving you...

Meet me at the altar in your white dress(Uh-huh)
We ain't gettin' no younger we might as well do it
I been feeling you all the while girl i must confess girl
let's just get married I just wanna get married
Meet me at the altar in your white dress
We ain't gettin' no younger we might as well do it
Been feeling you all the while girl I must confess girl
Let's get married i just wanna get married

Said I done it all but frankly girl I'm tired of this emptiness
I wanna come home to you and only you{Why?}
Cause making love to anyone ain't happenin' I just gotta be with you
I think about
Us finishin' somethin' we started so long ago?
I wanna give you my heart
Do you think about maybe us having some babies? C'mon won't you be my lady?
Forever girl....

Run-DMC:
What's goin' on across the sea?
It ain't nuthin', I ain't frontin'
Shorty coming wit' me
Now I done already gave you the keys to the Range
And your last name 'bout to change
Now you Mrs. Simmons
Got a better livin'
What a dif-rence Rev Run made
I use to be the snake type
Hangin' out late night Girl you done made me change my life
Ever since you met me Keys to the Bentley
Now they call you the preacher's wife
I'm the type of guy that
Take you out and buy that Ring with the rock that'll break your arm
Playaz won't try that
Now you can't deny that
Triple dub Rev to the Run dot com

Jagged Edge:

Meet me at the altar in your white dress(Uh-huh)
We ain't gettin' no younger we might as well do it
I been feeling you all the while girl i must confess girl
let's just get married I just wanna get married
Meet me at the altar in your white dress
We ain't gettin' no younger we might as well do it
Been feeling you all the while girl I must confess girl
Let's get married I just wanna get married

Spotlight 25 & Domestication

2007-04-05T22:31:00.001-04:00

Since these two subjects are slightly related (ok, really, the only thing they have in common is me), I'm going to condense two blogs into one. Besides, some of my last few posts have been about other people. I need some time to talk about me. Because I like me. I am freaking awesome.Here we go...
I watched a Lifetime special called "Spotlight 25". The premise of the show was to infiltrate the lives and minds of women my age; 25 years old. I was really looking forward to watching this special mostly because I wanted to see myself in comparison to my generation. As many know, I've never quite "fit in" with my age. For as long as I can remember, I've been attracted to people older than myself. Lots of people chalk this up to being "mature, wise beyond years", etc. That's probably true but it's always been a little difficult, not ever feeling "normal" within my age group and a little lost in my own head. The special was interesting regardless but personally, I was frustrated because out of 12 women, only 2 had children. And the two with children were very career oriented, climbing-the-corporate-ladder types. I'm nothing like that. There were no women featured like me; young moms/wives who's life focus is on their families and nothing else. Needless to say, it was deflating to see that once again, I did not fit in with others my exact age. It was bizarre watching women on TV that are "supposed" to be just like me. On one hand, I felt much wiser and perhaps slightly superior than most of the panel. On the other hand, I felt inferior. I do not, like many of these 12 women, have a college education or a high powered career. I do, however, have experience where they have education. And I have love which most of these women were still searching for. It's a strange feeling to be both disappointed and proud of yourself in 1 hour's time.Lifetime is supposed to be running a special where the spotlight is on 30 year olds. I'm tuning into that with hopes that I will feel satisfied by this age group. Or maybe I will never fit in with any group. Perhaps I have the best of both worlds, a young age number with older opinions, experience and lifestyle. This way, I get away with a little more. On the plus side, I always win those "guess your age" games at the fair.
Before you read this next part, please go back and read my most recent post about "How Wild Women Stay Thin".
Did you read it? Ok good. Moving on...
As you know (since you were specifically asked to read the article!), the article (which was written by a man. UGH!) makes the observation that women who are "domesticated", i.e., wives, mothers, caregivers, etc, are fat because they don't get a chance to express their wildly desires so therefore, they turn to comfort foods. I have severely mixed feelings about this article. I'm offended first, because it was written by a man. What the hell does a man know about being domesticated and the feelings of oppression one may have? Even if the oppression is self-imposed. Second, the article insinuates women cannot be both domesticated AND "wild". I'm not sure they can either but that's neither here nor there. Lastly, are "domesticated" women feeling SO sorry for themselves that they're turning to comfort foods and making themselves fat and ugly? I hope not.With that said, I tend to agree with this doctor. In order to express WHY I agree, I'm going to talk about myself. (Remember? This blog is all about me because I am great!)I feel a lot of oppression. Not from anyone but myself, it's completely self inflicted oppression. I oppress myself because of a huge responsibility I have to my family. I oppress in order to be superior to those I openly criticize. Thanks to the WWoMS (this would be: The Wunnerful World of MySpace), I've reunited with lots of old friends. And they all say the same thing to me; "I cannot believe how much you've changed!" and "I would have never pinned you as a wife and mother!" I was wild. I was loud and outgoing, slightly crazy. I was angry, passionate and maybe showed some bi-polar tendencies. I would try just about anything once and jumped on every dare. I've been like that since the age of about 7. Then something shifted. I had a baby, got married. I cannot credit (or blame) my transformation on Chicken or my husband, Husband, because the process began years after both of them came into my life. I wish I could pinpoint the exact time in my life where I changed but I cannot recall. Probably because it didn't happen that fast (although it truly feels like it did). It was more of a gradual change starting when I was approximately 17 years old. Since then, I've learned and grown so much. My priorities were modified and I needed to give my child a life that I never had but always dreamed of. I wanted to be the perfect wife. Those dreams are still strong in my mind but over the years they've faded and have too, changed. I'm not the perfect wife and I'm far from the ideal mother but my focus is 100% on my family. I'm no longer wild, I'm not dangerous and much more contained. Although, I'm still loud. On my journey to be "normal", I've oppressed my own desires. But here's the thing; I don't feel like being "wild" is a particular desire that I have. Of course, I crave a girls night out like everyone else but my idea of a perfect girls night out is a bottle of wine and an art project. Or going bowling and drinking cheap beer. Maybe I'm different because I sewed my wild oats long ago. I know what's out there and I know it's not always pretty. Or maybe I've oppressed myself to the point that I don't even KNOW what my true desires are anymore!With regards to the comfort food issue, I'm not sure it's true for me. I've certainly gained plenty of weight over the years but is it because I've turned to comfort food as a form of feeling sorry for myself since I'm no longer considered a "wild girl"? I hope not. I always thought I gained so much weight over the years first as a way of comfort after my dad passed away but later because I was happy. Not because I am sad. Besides, I've seen plenty of fat party girls.

I wanted to write more about other things but this is enough about me (because really, I'm not THAT awesome). For now. I've put myself out there for everyone to see and I hope I've done it well without too much confusion and contradiction. Then again, that's me; my life has always been filled with a lot of confusion and contradiction. And pretension.
That pretension, she's a bitch.

No Wonder Why My Ass Keeps Growing!

2007-04-05T22:29:00.001-04:00

I borrowed this article from ediets.com. I find it to ring slightly true in my personal life but also found it to be highly offensive. Especially since it was written by a man. I have a lot to say about "domestication", particularly when it pertains to women my age and I'm trying to gather my thoughts to write a blog about it. Stay tuned. In the meantime, enjoy the article and let me know your thoughts on it!

How Wild Women Stay Thin
By Dr. Matthew AndersoneDiets ContributorUpdated: April 5, 2007
A life too focused on domestic duties and expectations can drain a woman of her instinctual wildness, passion and creativity. Too many women control their wildness with comfort food, and thus create extra pounds instead of aliveness.
I'm going to share the definition of "to domesticize" with you. This may make you sick, but sometimes getting sick is a healthy response to something toxic.
To Domesticize – To train, to live with and be of use to man; to tame.
This definition originally applied to animals, however, too often now, applies to women. When a woman cooperates too fully with the process of domestication, she runs the risk of losing her connection to her instinctual aliveness. Weight gain is a significant result of this subtle, but dangerous process.
Question: Have you been overly domesticated? Is your day and your life filled to the brim with domestic duties? Do you ever feel that you are a slave to your household duties, to your children's and/or husband's needs?
Question: Do you ever have the urge to be something other than, or in addition, to domestic? Does this idea seem exciting or threatening, or both?
Question: Do you ever feel the urge to live a life that is an expression of your wild energy -- more robust, inventive, creative, passionate, more wolf-like than domestic pet, unashamed, un-muzzled, animated and imaginative, confident, clear, dream-driven and ultimately fully alive?
Question: Do you use comfort food to manage your wild energy? Many weight-challenged women in America unsuccessfully attempt to domesticate their natural and instinctual energies under the guise of being good mothers, good wives and good citizens. Then they fight a daily battle with their deeper untamed selves. The most obvious symptom of this battle is fat.
You are not a family pet that needs to be tamed. I know our culture might have you think this, but you and I both know this idea is reprehensible. I am certain that there is an energy rising in you at this very moment that wants to shout an untamed, "Yes!" The question then is: What are you going to do with it? If you do not find a meaningful path of expression for this energy you will continue to have an extremely difficult time losing weight
It works like this: Your wild energy wants to find expression in your daily life. Your rules about having to be a domesticated being demand that your wildness get back into its cage. Comfort food becomes your main means for caging the energy. Since your wild energy is instinctual and basic to your existence, it will not go away. Thus, you require an endless supply of comfort food to manage it.
If you go on a diet, you have to try to manage your instinctual wildness with willpower instead of comfort food. Using willpower in an attempt to manage your instinctual wildness is like using a dog leash to handle King Kong. No wonder your diet fails!
What then is the solution? Here is a brief, but highly effective set of guidelines I have often shared with my clients and workshop participants. By the way, they work for men too.
Guidelines for Expressing Your Wildness
1. Acknowledge and accept the fact that instinctual, healthy wildness is an essential part of your being.
2. Get a journal and begin to list and describe how your wildness could be expressed. This exercise will help you moderate the anxiety that may initially arise when you approach these energies in yourself. Remember, your wildness is not inherently dangerous, but you may experience some discomfort as you begin to get to know it.
3. Read the book Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Try to read it in an undomesticated way. I know you think you have to read a book front to back. Forget that. Read this book in any fashion you like. Choose a story and read it. Find a paragraph that turns you on, write it on a card and carry it around with you. Devour the book.
4. Start every day with the following question: How can I express my wildness today?
If you want more encouragement and ideas about how to express your wildness, please email me at DrA@DrAusa.com.

The Art of Butchery

2007-04-04T22:27:00.001-04:00

Not butchery as in a butch lesbian. Nor butchery like the handling, carving and distribution of meat. I mean butchery as in destroy, humiliate and completely destroy up the English language.
Today, while browsing houses for sale on a popular website, I came across a disturbing discovery. An owner (and I know it was an owner because it was the BUYOWNER website) boasted this: "...access to private golf coarse..." What? Are you kidding me? You want me to pay half a million dollars for your house (which looks like it's worth a quarter of that price) and you cannot distinguish the difference between coarse (as in rough) and course (as in obstacle)? NEXT!
My education is less than most people I know. Which, in my opinion, gives me the authority to be appalled by the lack of proper writing. Not just formal or creative writing but good 'ol regular letter writing, emails, even instant messages. Perhaps that's why my love for proper language has cultivated into near obsession. Almost as if I have something to prove. Something like this: "I may not have graduated with my class or walked across a stage for a diploma, but dammit, I'm smart!" We, as a generation, have damaged our reputation with regards to writing and grammar. My 6 year old is in 1st grade reading where they're learning to form proper grammar, letter writing and English language skills. I know we've come a long way since 1st grade; our brains have been filled with so much since 20 years age but try to use some of the tools taught to you during elementary education.
When I was dating (hard to remember such a time, eh?), I had very few requirements in a man. They needn't a car or a job. They needed to possess conversation skills. They needed a sense of humor and intelligence. If we reflected back to the different kinds of guys I've dated, we'd find that they had nothing in common besides basic use their brains and usually the ability to make me laugh until I peed myself. I dated wanna-be gangsters, wanna-be punk rockers, night club managers, pre-law college students and eventually married a musician (a good one, too!). They were all shapes, colors and levels of appearance. One had a face only a mother could love. I once dated a guy who was so bad for me but I didn't care because even though he had a certain exterior; inside, I knew there was a very smart kid and if only I could get him to express it more, we could get married and live happily ever after. Well, obviously, that didn't happen. I still believe he's smarter than he lets on but he's still living with his parents, doesn't have a job or a car and lives the same life as when we dated. Boy, am I glad I didn't go THAT route!
In a time where hardly anyone hand-writes letters and notes (I do) in lieu of computers and programs like Microsoft Word, it's shocking and disturbing how the English language is being butchered in such a manner. I am not, by nature or history, a spelling bee champion, nor am I a prize-winning writer. I just have a need to portray myself as well-spoken.
Even if I am a crazy bitch.
I realize now that I've probably subjected myself to extreme scrutiny with respect to my writing. I'm not saying my grammar or spelling is free of mistakes. I'm just saying I use Microsoft Word and even that only catches so many errors. And I do make typos. A lot. And I do often write exactly how I speak (like how I just used "And" at the beginning of several sentences. A big no-no!). In other words, I'm not perfect. But I'm damn close!
My friends, smart and dumb, please use the program which comes free with most computers to check the errors of your ways. You can only blame the education system for so long before it's no longer a reflection of your poor education but a reflection of your laziness and stupidity. Single women, you will attract much better men, single men, you will attract much better women. And everyone will live happily ever after.
Just like me. (haha)

Bad, Bad Girl Brown

2007-04-02T22:23:00.001-04:00

You know. Instead of Leroy Brown. I crack myself up.
I'm a bad blogger, I know. I can go weeks (months?) without writing a single word but this is changing (at least today).
My writing process is very personal. I usually write in my head before I can actually record it onto paper (or keyboard/monitor). Then I have to mull over it, edit it, read it, rewrite it, re-edit and then (and only then!), I post. And I am unsatisfied with my own writing 90% of the time but I try to resist the urge to take it away and try again. Please.
I've wanted to write a book for a very long time, about 12 years now. Jessica and I used to talk about how we should write a book with all of our great stories and memories. I started to write a memoir once right after I had Chicken but a hungry newborn took priority. Besides, I didn't feel like I had enough "meat" to write an interesting book. As years have passed, my desire to put these stories together has really blossomed. I'm still not sure I have enough compelling stories (and who knows if my stories are interesting enough?) but I have plenty of inspiration. Those who know my background and family know the drama (Oh, you say you don't know the drama? Thank your lucky stars then). And those that have known me for a long time know all the crazy stuff that I've done and have had happen to me.
But where does one start when writing about their life? Usually, people who write successful memoirs are writing about their life as a member of an (in)famous family of some sort. My family is infamous, allright! Then there is the question of what to write and what to withhold. This would be my personal story but the details of many things could be hurtful to others, both dead and alive.
I've also considered including a compilation of stories written by my close friends and family. Kind of like lots of short stories into one 200 page book. I just don't know where to begin.
Yes I do. I'm going to start by making a list of all the memories I have that could cultivate into a great book. Then I'm going to write on those memories. A little cut and paste, BOOM! I've got a book.
Seems so easy.
Now I just have to actually write something. And then sell it to a publisher. And then beg people to buy it. Crap.

SHHH!

2007-03-26T22:20:00.001-04:00

There has been a lot of buzz about "The Secret". I haven't read this book or seen the DVD (so I should shut my mouth until I do. But I wont.) but my basic understanding of this concept is if you put positive thoughts out into the universe, they will come true. The book/DVD uses material things as examples (a boy envisions a bike, thinks of the bike, puts it out into the universe and then he gets the bike). Y'all know I'm all for the materialistic (I have quite the shoe collection) but I think this could be a very powerful concept. I'm not going to call it "The Secret" because it's no secret, duh! I'm going to call it the "Universe Concept".
Personally, I have been on the receiving end of the Universe Concept before I even knew about "The Secret". I'm generally an optimistic person with cynical tendencies. I'd like to think I'm realistic but I sort of live in my own small bubble-type world so I won't actually label myself as a realist. If you put positive out there, it will come back to you. Perhaps this is more simplistic reasoning than realistic but whatever. It's my blog and I can write it how I want to!
With that being said, I'm trying to envision different things for my life. For instance, everyone knows I want another baby. That's NO secret! But being the realist that I am (shit, did I just label myself that? Oh well. MY BLOG!), I understand that our current dwelling place is far too small to house another child. So while I've been putting it out into the universe (and/or praying) that I want to get pregnant, I've sort of attached negative thoughts.
But this morning, I had an epiphany!
I could have another baby here. I could put the baby in our room and when she (that's right, she. I don't want boys, thank you) she's too big for the crib, she can share Chicken's bunk bed! I could adjust! I can rearrange! I CAN MAKE THIS WORK!
Of course, there is still the pesky issue of Husband needing a home office/studio. And my dream of a beautiful guest room. And a garage.
Perhaps the solution is not to dream of another baby. It's to dream of a bigger house. The realist (there I go again!) in me knows that we need more money for a bigger house. So I should imagine Danny getting his mortgage license first. Or I could imagine my long-wanted career change to a sign language interpreter.
But I don't go "in order". My life has never been in "proper" sequence (although it has worked out just fine so far). I had a baby long before I married, I had a car before I had a license, etc. So maybe what I need is a baby and then let the details work themselves out.
Except, you know, my husband doesn't really want another baby right now. Because he likes things in order.

Spring Break Isn't What It Used To Be!

2007-03-22T22:13:00.001-04:00

Now, I didn't go to college but I always thought of Spring Break as a time to drink too much, stay up too late and flash your boobs to Joe Francis (of Girls Gone Wild). Times, they are a-changin'!
In my quest to find a great summer/day camp program for Chicken, I chose a Spring Break program as a "trial" for summer. I chose this place because many of her classmates went there for preschool and will go there this summer and I want her to be comfortable with people she already knows.
But y'all know I'm crazy. Like restraining-order-crazy.

When Chicken was 3 and went to preschool, I was very confident about where she was going. NHA was pretentious, clean, bright and featured accredited teachers. I never shed a morning tear there. I had a "feeling" about the place that allowed me to drop her off guilt free as I went about my silly monkey job. Then something happened that needn't be detailed here but I had to abruptly remove Chicken and eventually was served with a restraining order from the administration of NHA. Then the search was on for another preschool to place Chicken during the 5 remaining months before kindergarten. I never found the "best" place and we ended up in an "ok" but not the best, program. I cried everyday for 5 months when I dropped her off. The place was safe and clean but dumbed down. I began to doubt my instincts. After all, I'd had a great feeling about NHA and for years trusted them with my precious Einstein Chicken. And see how that turned out?

We're back to square one. I've been dreading and avoiding the task of finding the best summer program. I can't bear touring schools with directors telling me only what I want to hear again. I'm still raw from the endless registration process last time. And the tears feel as fresh today as they did when I was crying them last spring. But because I am a mature and dignified parent (what?), I'm doing it we'll try this Spring Break program. For the low, low price of $150, my child can enjoy field trips, new camp shirts and swimming lessons for five days!! (Must pack bag lunch for child. Mommy's agony included free of charge.)
Chicken, however, is so excited she insisted she take the school's business card to class with her. With promises to be open and honest with me, she'll embark on a school bus (her first without me) filled with screaming 6 to12 year olds to the skating rink in a couple of weeks. A pocket full of change for the arcade, my cell phone number in her memory for emergency and a dose of Mommy's agony on the side.
Happy Spring, folks!

The Kids on the Bus Go "HA HA HA"

2007-03-09T12:37:00.001-05:00

I've had a stressful and sad week. It really started last Friday but the bitterness and anxious feelings continue to grace me throughout the week.

Wednesday, I didn't sleep. Ok, that's a lie. I did sleep. For 3 hours. It was just one of those nights ("if I don't go to sleep RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I will only get 5 hours sleep" "Damn it, I'm still awake; that leaves me 4 hours sleep" and on and on.). I was functioning through Thursday but with a newly acquired eye twitch. Then Thursday night, I felt the same anxiety creep up on me around 9pm. So I knocked back a couple glasses of wine and was well into my second dream cycle by midnight. Excellent.

What does this have to do with kids on a bus? Well, shut up and let me finish. (Gosh, you people are so impatient. Can't you let a sister tell her story?!?!)
Today was nothing special. I continued with the melancholy in my heart, darkness in my eyes and blur in my head. Fast forward to 2pm. I was scooping up Olivia from school and my new favorite song came on the radio. Lets Get Married remix by Jagged Edge featuring Rev. Run. I know it's not a new song. But it's new to me. And I love it. So there.
I'm getting there. Promise.
Where was I? Oh, old song, new favorite comes on the radio (which it hardly does) and I turn the volume to it's maximum capacity. Then I feel the itch. You know, the dancing itch. Before I know it, I am fully breaking it down in the driver's seat of my car. It's cool, though. Because this bitch is W O R K I N' I T ! If I could have scrubbed the ground, I would have.
Then I feel that eerie feeling we all get when someone is watching us. Like a creepy old guy, or a ghost. Or say...a school bus full of middle school kids.
Dammit. I hate when that happens.
It's cool, though. Because for three minutes and thirty two seconds, I was released from my own pain.
Besides, now 30 twelve year olds have the pricless story about the chubby white chick they saw booty dancing in her car.

Lost

2007-03-05T12:36:00.001-05:00

I know a little girl who may be lost.
I fear for her life. Not so much physical safety but her emotional and mental survival. I will worry about her physical self later, when she is older. It's coming; right around the corner.
Her life is filled with adult-type drama. She is caught in the middle of everything.
Why can't these people let their child live? They can help her. I can't decide if they don't know how far she is, if they know and don't care or know and cannot find the strength (or time) to help her.
If continued, she will end up in a bad place. She will outsource the love required from home. She will dip her toes in danger, only to fall in and bump her head. Hard. She will hurt just to see if she still bleeds. She is quickly becoming numb. A numb child is a dangerous thing.
I know she is misguided and lonely. I know her insides are twisted from her own reality. She reminds me of myself when I was 12 years old. Bright, with so much potential but everyone has given up on her.
I'm having nightmares about her future. I've been begging everyone to let her come stay with me this summer. For I believe I can "fix" her. I want to scoop her up with stability, love and guidance.
Perhaps healing her will close the wounds I have carried for 15 years. I will never forget the devastation I experienced when I was her age. She feels like no one loves her or cares about her, I know. She doesn't even have to say it. In her big brown eyes, I know what she can be. And they just won't have it.
"It's none of your business" they say. I have watched her grow since she was a toddler. I may not have birthed her or raised her but my heart literally aches in worry. As if she was my own.
How can I help a child who doesn't even know she needs help? And no one believes me.
I know and I love you.

The Doctor

2007-03-02T12:33:00.001-05:00

In spite of my hormone induced rage earlier in the week, I've turned a corner.

My ho-a-scope said my "luck will be changing today". That was yesterday.

-Chicken's homework is done. 4 days early. Without argument. With Husband's help.
-Today was Baby Back Ribs night @ Scruby's BBQ. SCORE!!
-I purchased two new mah-va-lous pieces of jewelry from the Q. (That's QVC, fools!)
-I remained dignified and mature during an argument with another school mom who is acting stank.
-I confirm plans with Gramma & Silly Grandpa Bobby. I love them.
-I may or may not have completed a very complex permit application for a job at work.
-I sent birthday wishes to an old friend and received a very sentimental reply. Olive You!
-We did not watch another Sopranos re-run.
-I wore a new shirt today. And I have another new shirt to wear tomorrow!
-My husband still loves me. Even though I go out for Chinese and come home with Burger King.

So what that there is a meeting at 8am that I am not prepared for? The bathroom is growing mold (again?), there are still dishes in the sink and laundry is scattered throughout. I still haven't called laid-up Vermont Aunt and there is a weird smell coming from a non-smelly room in my house. So what?

From the words of my wise homie Dr. Dre:

Today was a good day.

New Era

2007-02-27T12:29:00.001-05:00

So. Chicken has her very first crush. Before you folks get all jacked up about her only being 6 years old, let me tell you a story.

When I was in Kindergarten, I had a boyfriend. A little black boy named Phillip. Man, I l o v e d Phillip! During boring lessons in class, Phillip and I would sneak under the desks and hold hands. He kissed me on the mouth once. Then I punched him.

Chicken's Phillip is the older brother of her (this week's) best friend. Crush is in 4th grade. I noticed something funny about a month ago. I was in her class after school doing some yearbook stuff when Best Friend wrote on the board "I love Crush" and she told Chicken "I'm going to tell Crush you wrote that". Chicken's head whipped around and she looked at me, embarrassed and a little afraid. I just smiled and continued counting money. A couple of weeks later, Chicken comes home, blushing. "Oh my gosh, Crush was wearing a red and blue striped shirt today. Isn't that so funny?" she said. I asked her if she liked Crush, she said nodded with the same embarrassment and slight fear in her face. We talked about crushes and how it's perfectly fine for her to like a boy but that she was way too young to have a boyfriend or any type of anything. She would have plenty of time to have boyfriends and hold hands, pass love notes, etc when she got bigger. We talked about boundaries and when she could have a boyfriend (high school.). I hugged her tight and thanked her for talking to me about it. I talked more about how she could always come to Daddy and me to talk about her feelings about boys, school, whatever. I squeezed her again and let her know how proud I was of her; she's becoming such a big girl in front of my very own eyes.

Then Sunday came. I pre-arranged with their mother to meet Best Friend/Crush at a local Festival on Sunday @ 1pm. Chicken woke up at 8am, ready to GO! It was the longest 5 hours of her life. Finally, we are getting ready to meet Best Friend/Crush!! Chicken disappears in her room for about an hour and finally emerges wearing a tank top with a shrug-tie wrap and the shortest shorts I've ever seen on a child. I don't know WHERE these shorts came from; she must have been hiding them for a long time, saving them for a special day exactly like this. They were a size 2T, which fits her fine in the waist but were definitely Daisy Dukes! Baby got booty!

She must have read my mind because again, with the look of embarrassment and a little bit of fear, she tuned around, came out 20 minutes later wearing capri pants. And pale pink lipstick.

I can't win them all.

Damn Cycle!

2007-02-27T12:25:00.001-05:00

I'm very grumpy today. I think I got up on the wrong side of the bed. Of course, there is only one side to the bed as "my" side is against the wall. Perhaps that's the problem. One side of the bed. If I had two sides, then I'd have options. I like options. I need options. Must. Move. Bed.
I digress. Everyone is pissing me off. I've got a wicked look in my eye that says "Anything you say will cause me to kick you". Perhaps it's not a great idea to have 2 cups of espresso within 30 minutes of waking. And another on the way to school/work. In my defense, the espresso is good. I mean, trade-espresso-for-sex-good. In my brand-new, very fancy-shmancy, self doing coffee machine.
I feel like I'm running through a cycle that is never ending. You know, just life. Wake up, drink too much coffee, open Chicken's eyes enough to dress herself, more coffee, make lunch, check back pack, more coffee, drive to school, chit-chat a few minutes too long, race to work arriving 20 minutes late, make more coffee. Work silly monkey job, go to school, go back to silly monkey job for an hour, back to school. Home, school work (for both of us), cleaning, cooking, sports activities, continue my role as "Queen Yenta" with other non-Jewish friends. Wrestle, kiss and tickle child, threaten her with homemade cookies into the shower, bitch about and demand the toothpaste in the sink get cleaned NOW!, Chicken is in bed. I clean. I sleep. And hopefully, 5-6 hours later, I do it all over again.
See what I mean. It's just a-spinnin'. And I don't mean the records. I mean the wheels in my head.
What can I do to improve this, how can we make more money? Is she getting sick, I need to call the insurance company, must order more soccer pictures, must mail Kara's CD & Jillian's Nemo. Must call laid-up Aunt in Vermont. (If I were a cartoon, here's where the steam would come whistling out of my ears. WOOOOOOOOOOO)
This morning, in the midst of my grumpiness, I put her in the car and prepared to drive away. "I'm so lucky", I thought. This is the life I always wanted. The life I fought for and semi-maintain. Of course, the bitch inside pushed my (rare) grateful attitude aside but now that I reflect; I am lucky. Maybe not so much luck as blood, sweat and tears. Ok, mostly tears. But whatever.
When I was growing up, I dreamed of being a mom. It was all I ever wanted to be. I dreamed of June Cleaver, baking cookies, PTA meetings and cleaning toilets. I knew being a mom was hard and a lot of work and draining. I prayed for it anyway. And on mornings (days, weeks?) when I feel like there is nothing left of me, I thank God for answering prayers. For allowing me to give people the life I never had and fulfilling emptiness I grew up with.
It's everything I wished for and more.
Thank you.

Open Letter

2007-02-26T12:16:00.001-05:00

This is an open letter to several people I know yet no one in particular.

To: Young Mothers of Young Children
From: A Young Mother of a Young Child
Re: Behavior

Dear YMOYC,

I know that you may have grown up in less than desirable circumstances. In a less than desirable neighborhood. With less than desirable parents. Me too. So I write you this letter of advice with experience because people all over are judging you. You say you don't care but clearly you do. This does not excuse your inappropriate behavior. STOP! You have kids now, babies who need you. You are no longer allowed to travel the tri-county area seeking the best parties and cheapest drinks all. the. time. Stay home. All kids need their moms. Even on weekends. Please close your legs and stop with the promiscuous (I knew this word before that silly song!) behavior. This is what got you kids you didn't want in the first place. If you must sleep around, don't let him stay over. Saying that your life revolves around your child does not mean it's true. Be home when your child wakes up Sunday morning, make her breakfast. Pop Tarts is not an acceptable breakfast. Hung over moms do not make for good moms. Don't take unappealing pictures of yourself and post them to the Internet. This applies especially to those currently locked in a custody battle. These pictures will be used against you in a court of law. You are no longer "cool". Being called a "MILF" because you wear revealing clothing doesn't mean you are one. Put your boobs away. You are not from the ghetto, stop acting like it. Don't let your daughter behave that way either. Stop teaching your sons gang signs. Instead, teach them to behave one class higher than your actual income. They will get much further in life that way. That's a tried and true method.
Lastly, love your babies. Because when you're all dried up and the "love of your life" stopped returning your calls, you'll only have your babies.
Sincerely,
Brown

Me Too

2007-02-18T12:14:00.001-05:00

This is an excerpt from Rosie O'Donnell's blog at rosie.com in regards to Britany Spears shaving her head & getting a tattoo.
Something about what Rosie wrote struck a cord with me and reminds me all too much of my own life. Real life has saved me from many mistakes.

many moms -
of kids in ur sons class
want to shave their hair off
and get a tattoo
they dont because they cant
noone is there 2 watch the kids
what would the neighbors say
plus
the pta meeting
would be humiliating
on many levels
real life
can save u
sometimes
u have to -
no choice

I Heart No One

2007-01-31T12:11:00.001-05:00

I'm seriously lacking many things lately. My creative writing has gone down the tubes, laundry is, once again, over - flowing from the wash room and the bathroom counter top resembles a lab where they study toothpaste spills and blue mouthwash stains. I haven't cooked a "real" meal in weeks. I am so. freaking. tired. It's so cold. And it seems like everyone else is going about their lives, happily balancing work, kids, volunteering, homes and family whilst I walk through the front door tearing my clothes off in preparation for a nap.

Things at Chicken's school are hectic. The yearbook has to be turned in by the 14th and we haven't even finished collecting pictures. There is loads of money to be collected for field trips, Year End Celebrations, etc. I had to put in for 5 days off work in the month of February for school stuff. That's 1/3 of my total paid time off. How do people manage this with jobs? I guess they don't. Most of the other "School Moms" don't have jobs. This is their job. But I am finding this year to be fulfilling in every possible way. The children delight me, the teachers can depend on me and the parents aggravate me. Something feels very important about my time spent at this very special school.

Husband is taking a mortgage broker class taught by his brother (!). He told me he needed a fire extinguisher because his brain was fire. Bless his big, sweet heart. All of this to get us out of here. So I can chase my dreams while he has his nose in a book, in a computer, up a potential client's ass. I must buy him something very pretty and expensive. He loves a fabulous pair of shoes.

Here's to naps and Valentine's Day.

Teacher's Pet

2007-01-30T12:09:00.001-05:00

Kindergarten Field Trip - $4
Loss of weekly wages volunteering at school - $64
Pink baby clothes for very pregnant teacher - $100
Arts and craft supplies for cookie and card decorating - $20
Dinner with families at school fundraiser - $37
Being told you're her best favorite parent - Priceless

Because It Has Many Purposes

2007-01-05T12:06:00.001-05:00

I told this story to a friend on the phone last night and decided that I should write about it in order to get over it and move on.

But before I do, allow me to provide a little background information.

I have a very love/hate relationship with my boss. One on hand, she's very kind and generous. On the other hand, she's a mega bitch. We used to call her Hagatha the sea-witch. She's very funny yet judgmental and brings new meaning to the words pretentious and snob. She is also the classic rags to riches tale. Except now she's just like you and me. Regular middle class folk. I've worked with her for 4 years and we've seen each other through many economic, physical and emotional challenges. We're very loyal to each other but with the feeling that it could end any day now.

Onto my True PACSI! Hollywood (Florida that is) Story:

Boss: How much do you think a 40 pack of tissue paper goes for?Me: I don't know, like 99 cents.Boss: Well I just paid $3.99 for a 40 pack of tissue paper at Party City!Me: You got ripped off! I bought a 300 pack at Target for 47 cents the day after Christmas.Boss: (scoff) What do you need tissue paper for?Me: (indignant tone) Uhh, the same thing you use it for. Gift wrapping.Boss: (now with even snottier tone) They don't give you tissue paper with the box when you buy a gift?Me: Um, I shop at Target.Boss: (sigh) We really do come from different worlds, don't we?

Ahh yes. Different worlds. I'm going to have to remember that the next time she asks me where she can get a good deal on milk.

My Eyes Hurt

2007-01-05T12:02:00.001-05:00

Here are some fashion statements I don't understand:

-Guys with tall hair wearing a rubber band/headband around their head to put emphasis on the very tall hair.
-Young (not balding, non-military) guys with shaved heads.
-The mandana. 'Nuff said.
-Mini skirts with leggings. I'd rather bring Madonna back from the 80's.
-Skinny jeans. They keep saying that EVERYONE can wear skinny jeans. Even no-so-skinny chicks. This is not true. Trust me.
-Halter tops, tube tops and other inappropriately-revealing clothing in plus sizes. Also, maternity thong underwear.
-BIG hair. You know what I'm talking about. The ones who have super curly hair, keep it really long and turn their heads upside down and cause further global warming with a bottle of hair spray. B I G !
-Boho anything. This includes the huge t-shirt passing off as a dress but excludes the boho bag.
-HUGE Jackie-O sunglasses. Especially on tiny women.
-The mermaid dress. This cannot be comfortable.
-Guys wearing t-shirts down to their knees and then still wearing their pants below their ass. What's the point?
-$150+ sneakers endorsed by basketball, football and baseball players. I get having one pair of really good sneakers. I do not get why kids want several pairs. Are your parents very rich? If so, I'm available for adoption.
-The velour jumpsuit. Shut up.
-The one piece bathing suit with the sides and/or front and back exposed. What exactly are you covering?
My #1 fashion pet peeve:
-Little girls dressed as grown women.

Flaming

2006-12-17T11:57:00.001-05:00

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.