The Drama Queen Mother

PIcs from the wedding.

2008-04-29T08:28:00.003-04:00

I had to bribe, yes. The boy has a new Webkinz. But it was so so worth it. How Stinking Cute is this Boy?

The little man is expanding his vocabulary

2008-02-29T11:38:00.002-05:00

So, the Prince is "getting married" at the end of April. He tells me he's marrying his cousin Kate. Actually, he and Kate are going to be the ring bearer and flower girl at our cousin's wedding.

I told him this morning that he was going to look so sharp in his tuxedo.

He immediately raised an alarm and said NOOO mommy! I can't be sharp. I will hurt Kate and scratch her. That would be bad.

I tried to explain that sharp also means handsome, but he wasn't hearing it. We agreed to disagree and now say he's going to just look handsome at the wedding.

Stubborn little Taurus.

Pizza and Protesting for President's Day

2008-02-22T12:06:00.001-05:00

I had the BEST time on Monday with the Princess. We went downtown to the statehouse for the Indiana Equality Rally. SJR-7 (the proposed amendment to add a no-same sex marriage ban) was just shot down in the house, but the group is still vigilant to keep it down.

It was a wonderful time. Some moms from my Blue Group, and the pastor/asst pastors of my church were there.

It was great. We heard a senator and a reverend speak in favor of abolishing this silly amendment. I was so excited to have my daughter with me, seeing the power and excitement of people striving for change.

I was proud. She immediately grabbed a "NO SJR-7" sticker and put it on her chest and was hollering right along with me.

It was an awesome president's day. Politics, protest...the stuff our country was founded on. :)

Remember Jill?

2008-02-14T09:37:00.002-05:00

The DUMBEST woman I've ever met in a school environment? Oldtime readers will remember the stories.

Guess who turned in a resume at my salon today? We've been out of school two years and she still hasn't worked in esthetics. No shocker there. She actually lied about where she got her training, as well. Dum dum dummy head.

I told my boss that if she ever thought of hiring her, she may as well close the doors and lock the shop, because it was going to be struck by lightening. :)

The 7 year old amazes me yet again.

2008-02-10T17:05:00.000-05:00

I was so proud of my little girl today.

First, we sang a song in church this morning that last week the children did a little "dance" to, with motions that matched the words. This week, the opening chords of the same song played and she just began singing, even before the rest of the congregation. Once everyone sang in earnest, she just burst out with those motions, right in the front row. Everyone was so moved by un-embarassed spirit that they followed suit and did the motions, too. Even our pastors were up there, using their fingers to "rain down" the Holy Spirit. It was amazing to watch a little girl lead the whole room. THAT is what going to church and feeling God's presence is all about.

Secondly, this afternoon, she asked me: "Why is it, that my friend Jane is really bad at school and then her parents give her EVERYTHING? I mean, she has SO much stuff and her parents give her everything she wants. And she's so bad!! I don't think that's right".

Thank God something is sinking in.

It's Groundhog Day

2008-02-02T20:47:00.000-05:00

And much like the movie of the same name, I feel my life coming around in cycles. I alternately love my life, and feel as if something is missing. I relive the same delimmas every six months or so: do I stay with my job even though it still doesn't pay me enough? Is being happy and having a great boss enough reason to stay and spin my wheels? Maybe I should go back to school and further my education so I'll be more marketable. Maybe I should just have another baby and stay home. Maybe I need to just move to Toronto.

And you know what? The answers never really come. Just more questions. More lists of pros and cons. More wondering if I'm just a really instable, antsy pantsy creative type who can't stay with something more than a year, or if I'm just like every other woman in her thirties. Is anyone out there as unsettled as I am? Why do I want more? Why can't I be okay with status quo? Especially when status quo is pretty damn good. Is it selfish of me to want more than what I have? I don't want to replace, just augment. That's not as bad sounding, right?

Just damn.

Trying to re-energize

2008-01-24T22:07:00.000-05:00

Facing 2008 has been weird. I mean, I had a pretty crap ending to 2007, followed by some amazing things immediately following in January. I filmed my first movie, I went back to the gym and fit once again into the evil "Day after Thankgiving they fit just fine" pants, and mastered a sunwheel swing. Yeah, it's a pole swing. If you're really nice, someday I'll demo it for you. I just can't seem to shake the funk of December. I think I'll try to do it now, just by listing all the cool things that are going to happen this year. So indulge me whilst I try to break the funk.

~ We are facing the very real possibility of the first female or African American President. I was hoping it'd happen in my lifetime. Now it looks like it really could, sooner than I could have dreamed. Obama '08, baby!!

~ My Blue Moms' Group will hopefully expand way beyond it's current 53 members to a really active group that creates change.

~ This is the year I get fit. Really fit. Not just the pole dancing. The eating. The cardio. Whittling the fat and reducing the cottage cheese that has decided my thighs are it's Mecca. I intend to get stronger and leaner and not ashamed of my body this year. I also intend to start looking for a really good surgeon to take care of that post baby flappage going on over my beltline.

~ We're getting active in our amazing, progressive church. I have joined the Membership Board, we're marching in Gay Pride again this year, and I'm parcipating in church dramas that aren't embarassing and weak.

~ My mom and dad will finally be able to visit Indianapolis again. They haven't been down in more than 18 months, and I miss my mommy.

~ A ski trip, a family wedding (The Prince is going to be ring bearer!), two campouts with our closest friends, a weekend at the beach and a family road trip to Denver are just a few of the fun things already planned this year.

~ I'll shoot my second film this summer, as well as (hopefully) participate in another play before the year ends. Mama's getting her groove back.

Did I mention the pole?

I'm really quite obsessed with this thing. It's so much fun. Everyone should have one. Get your own at Lil Mynx Poles.

So yeah, I guess there is a lot to look forward to in this year. Sure, my job barely pays for daycare. And I hardly see my husband except as ships passing in the night. And my kids make me mental on a weekly basis. And the Boy STILL DOESN'T SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT.

But my life is good. And getting better all the time.

Happy New Year, everyone.

My movie has a trailer!!

2008-01-22T20:27:00.000-05:00

Check it. I'm sooo famous. :)

What's up at the Pole?

2008-01-14T16:12:00.000-05:00

Poling has taken on a whole new meaning to me in the last few weeks. I've been practicing new spins, sits and tricks up in the playroom.

Yes, yes, the pole is in the playroom. Where my children play. It's not a SEX playroom, as I have been asked. My kids monkey all over this thing, and understand mommy does it for excercise, not a job.

I had to explain to the princess about why we don't go to school and talk about spinning around mommy's pole. She totally got it. Of course, when we have her slumber party this spring we may need to take it down. I don't think I need her little girlfriends going home to their moms and sharing that my daughter taught their daughter "the Fireman".

I win once again for best.mother.ever.

New Year, better intentions

2008-01-10T09:24:00.000-05:00

Yeah, yeah. I know. I suck. Whatever. I've been busy. :)

Here's the year end rundown, for those not already heavily involved in my personal life.

The good:

I finished my play with great reviews. It was voted one of the top shows in Indy in 2007 by the Star.

I got cast in and filmed a short movie that is going into production this month. It was my first film, and opened up some great networking. I got offered a role in a film later this summer, which I happily accepted.

We met new friends this year through my Blue Moms Group and started hanging out with with them in earnest. It's been great having grown ups to do things with again.

I got the most awesomest, wicked Christmas present from my husband. I can now practice my pole skills every day, if I want to. Because I got my own pole. :)

The bad:

Doing such a downer show put me in a funky mood that I'm having a hard time shaking. I was a grouch, quit going to the gym, quit eating right, and subsequently gained back EVERY SINGLE POUND I LOST IN 2007. How exactly does it take 8 months to lose 15 pounds but a solitary month to gain it all back?

Because of said gain, half of my new Christmas clothes, purchased around Thanksgiving, no longer fit.

I'm going back to the gym. Have I mentioned what a drag the gym is??

A very good friend of mine found out she is in the fight of her life against Multiple Myeloma. A bone cancer that I don't know much about, but know it's really scary to be facing alone. Luckily she has an awesome network of family and friends. I just hope she chooses to lean on us.

The Ugly:

I lost my dearest uncle (my godfather) just before Christmas. He fought a 9 year battle with illness and finally lost. In the final years, my mother, father and grandparents cared for him in hospice, not allowing anyone to aid them. They were the real casualties of that war. It's been a terrible road for them, and when it was over, the sigh of relief mixed with the wails of the grieving were just surreal. Then there the elephant in the room at Christmas, combined with unopened gifts from my Uncle Patrick sitting under the tree. It was almost too much to bear. The holidays pretty much sucked. And I can't seem to figure out how to grieve.

But, new year. New intention. New motivations.

Moving on.

I've been on a journey

2007-11-19T11:58:00.001-05:00

This play I'm in, it's called Blackout. It takes place at an AA meeting on Christmas Eve...uplifting holiday fare, no? Anyway, my character is, obviously, an alcoholic. And not a very sucessful one. As part of my study, I've been speaking with many recovering/ed addicts and attended some AA meetings.

What I left with was an amazing feeling. The feeling that my boring life isn't so bad. I have heard people speak that spent the last year moving from crack house to crack house. I have met people who lost businesses, homes, their wives and children to alcoholism. I heard stories about families who no longer speak to their own because of the damages caused by addictions.

I have a lovely home, a great family, and a job. I bitch way too much about all of these things. But I have them. I have my sanity and the respect of the people around me. I respect myself.

These people have lost everything. But they do have hope. It's why they were there. They admitted they were powerless over the disease of drink and are there to seek help. The stats aren't good: one in three people going through recovery twelve step programs will still be sober a few years down the road. But they face the odds with reality and humor and dignity. I really thank these people for their candor. Their stories touched me in a way I really wasn't expecting.

I have learned so much in these past few weeks. I really hope to do their stories justice and not just use this play as another vehicle to "act". I really do.

Well, it's still fall

2007-10-23T21:30:00.000-04:00

And I managed to post twice in one season. Woot.

We're still trying to get balanced after starting school. Getting up so early, making lunch, catching the bus (why oh why is my child the first one on the bus), trying to fit an hour in at the gym three...okay, make that two...times a week. Add to that work, baths, stories, homework and butt wiping.

Mom is very busy, with little time for play.

Wait. Did someone say PLAY? Oh, why, that would be me. I did an audition yesterday, after a more than two year hiatus. Yay me. I'm sure if I get a role, I'll be back blogging.

To shamelessly plug my project. :)

So it's fall now

2007-09-24T20:39:00.001-04:00

And yeah, I suck at blogging. I really still don't have much to say. Reading back over the years, I had so much going on. New kid, new career, marriage on the major upswing...now I'm pretty boring.

No major dramas, no amazing epiphanies.

Really? Life is a-ok. And that makes for boring blogging.

I would really like to come back and try to tell interesting stories from the trenches. Even if it just gets me back on people's blogrolls. I'll try, I promise.

I will even try to be interesting.

Summer's Half Over!

2007-07-16T00:38:00.000-04:00

My summer:

Lost seven pounds in less than two months by just changing my thyroid meds.

Spent one week in Canada with my wonderful husband...alone. Eating crepes, gelato, chocolate bread, full fat lattes, maple bread, etc....and STILL lost seven pounds.

Nutrisystem...Bite me.

Came home from Canada to find that my mother had potty trained my son.

Camp Grandma is a good idea should my mom decide to go into biz for herself.

Went camping at the Dunes over Fourth of July.

Here's a little PSA for you: Expired Sunscreen does not work.

I am a big fat hypocrite of an esthetician. Ask my peeling back.

Another vacation later this month.

Summer of '07 has rocked.

See you this fall, eh?

Nutrisystem musings

2007-06-05T22:33:00.000-04:00

* Prepackaged food has a lot of preservatives, sodium and generally bad things in it.

* You "moch-late" may only have six grams of fat in a serving. Five of those, however, are saturated fat.

* If you spend $300 on a month's worth of food for just yourself, you really shouldn't have to spend an additional hundred on fruits, veggies, a daily salad, two dairy servings and two lean protiens a day.

Oh, in case you're wondering...I'm off the wagon. I'm tired of being pissed off and hungry. If I lost three dress sizes like the chippies on the commercial, I would suck it up and suffer for it. But I'm still the same size, still the same poundage. But now I'm a pissed off and hungry big girl. I'd rather go back to fat and happy, I think.

Nothing says I love you...

2007-05-23T08:34:00.000-04:00

Like a big fat melanoma. I am sickened right now by a show I'm seeing ads for on "E" Network. Sunset Tan...have you seen this? It's a show about a Hollywood Tanning Salon. I'm obviously biased and feel very strongly about this industry due to my career choice. But it's common knowledge how very dangerous tanning is...now we have a show glorifying it in a time where instances of malignant melanoma is up 4%every year since the '70s.

But back to this show. The salon feature packages called the Lindsey Lohan, show the day Crazy Britney came to get tan, and show a mom bringing her child (couldn't be more than ten) to the tanning salon because she "needs to get tan for her school pictures". Apparently, she was "a little too pale" last year for her picture, and needs to go tanning. The salesman asks her if she'd like to look like Lindsey Lohan...because they sell her the "cocktail" of 12 minutes in the bed, then a spray tan on top. The package? $1300. They then show a "confidential" shot of the salesman saying "cha-ching" in regards to taking that mom for a ride.

He took her for a ride, alright. In a time where malignant melanomas is the biggest killer cancer of people ages 20 to 30 years old, in a time where it has been proven that the UVA rays of a bed are exponentially more damaging than those of natural sun (which is still very dangerous for you), this mother is bringing her CHILD in, on purpose, to go tanning. And look like Lindsey Lohan. I'm not sure which is more disturbing.

Now, if you go tanning and love it, bully for you. You are entitled to treat your body any way you like. You know the risks and you make your choices. This post isn't about judgement. It's all fact that's out there for anyone to read.

But as an esthetician, I just cringe when I hear about tanning. I have seen so many 40 year old women who look older than my mother does at near 60 due to nothing more than tanning. Women who are spending thousands of dollars to try and reverse the signs of aging and trying to fix dermal-level damage. I have a thirty year old friend fighting his second round of malignant melanoma, with a back full of keloids from the giant patches of excised skin. He's scared he's not going to see his son grow up, and yet this MOTHER takes her child to the tanning bed so she can look darker for a freaking school picture.

Nothing says I love you, apparently, than encouraging skin cancer and making your daughter's face look like a leather handbag before she's a grandmother.

For more information about melanoma, photos of what to look for in a skin check, and to see profiles of those whose lives were lost (some as young as 15), please take a look htthere.

reconsituted eggs and veggie sausage product

2007-05-22T14:36:00.000-04:00

Is what I had for breakfast. It's a miracle of science. It's powder, then it's eggs. My husband informed me this is exactly what is on that sausage and egg biscuit that I adore so much. Somehow when surrounded by a fried sausage patty and buttery flakey biscuity goodness, it's heaven in a greasy wrapper. When made in my own microwave? Not quite the breakfast of champions, but I will tell you it wasn't half bad. And that scares me.

I had to get back on the bandwagon, however. We had the big birthday BBQ bonanza on Sunday. I ate, and drank. And then drank more. I had my calories in a cup all day and was pretty much loopy by noon. The bouncy house went better than expected: I didn't see many of the fifteen to twenty children that were at our home most of the day. We didn't even take time to sing happy birthday. No time...must bounce.

And by 6pm? As predicted, the bouncy house was filled with drunken grownups.

An excellent party indeed.

Powdered eggs and coffee? Maybe not the hangover remedy of choice, but it made me feel better about being so very very ba the day prior. :)

Okay, so I'm blogging again...where are my fans?

2007-05-17T09:52:00.000-04:00

This drama mama needs an audience, dammit! I'm sure I've been pulled off so many blogrolls, just because of a stupid overexposed snowman. Come back, people! I will be funnier! I will be deeper! I will only talk about about human excrement once...make that twice a month!

Today I will tell you that I started on Nutrisystem this week. No, I didn't pay the $300 for a month's worth of re-hydratable eggs and soy crisps. I do a bit of mystery shopping on the side, and got lucky this month.

So far, so good. The food is good. I'm not starving. Though you have to go out and buy a ton of fruits and veggies and milk and other protien. So my grocery budget were I doing this for real would be about $400. Just for me. Since we tend to keep our entire family's grocery bill at $200 for the month, looks like I'll be a Nutrisystem queen for 28 days plus one week of free food.

But here's something funny. The lunch portion of cheesy broccoli potatoes? Pretty tasty. It's about as much as a jar of babyfood, so I'm not sure what adult human stomach is satiated by it, but whatever. But here's the funny thing: on the side, it says "refrigerate unused portion". I'm a thick chick on a diet. You think I'll have leftovers, here?

Happy Mother's Day

2007-05-13T16:32:00.000-04:00

To all mothers, everywhere.

It's the hardest, most fulfilling job there is.

It's filled with tons of tears, mostly yours.

It's a job that pays in itty bitty kisses and baby giggles.

It's a job that gives you benefit in realizing your higher worth.

It's all day, every day, and there's no union to prevent an abundance of night shifts.

It can be a thankless job, but you know if you walked away from it, so many would suffer.

Today, I thank my grandmother for showing me what it is to be a woman, my own mother who is my best friend, and my awesome husband for fixing a full breakfast in bed and allowing the children to take credit.

Today I thank my children for making me a mother.

Take a minute to scroll down a bit and click the icon on the right. Visit: The Shape of a Mother, and celebrate the wonderful bodies that bring life to the planet and joy to our lives.

I'm athletic, who knew?

2007-05-09T19:01:00.000-04:00

Yes, I've been a blog slacker. I have, however, been very busy. I got tired of being tired, and joined a gym. Now, most of the world belongs to a gym, so why, you may ask, is that such a big whoop?

If you knew me, you'd know. This girl don't wear tennies that weren't made for fashion.

My husband trained (and finished with an awesome time last weekend) for the mini marathon all year. I on the other hand, ate lots of Long John Silver's chicken planks and dug the butt shaped furrow deeper on the far end of the couch.

So with January came resolutions. Mine included not being a fatass.

I work out now. Three times a week for an hour. Cardio, weights, classes, etc. I am not what anyone would call an "athlete", but hey...I congratulate myself if I can run on the treadmill through more than one song at a time. Sidenote: Missy Elliott DOES pair nicely with the Red Hot Chili Peppers when doing a slow jog. But I do manage to not puke after doing an hour and a half with the most sadistic aerobics instructor that Satan ever sent to any Ballys in the world. Anywhere. Even in LA. Promise.

I will tell you that I haven't lost a pound. Not ONE. Four months of excersizing my ass off and watching every morsel put in my mouth, and I still only fall three pounds shy of meeting my husband's weight...bastard.

But, on the positive side: I'm stronger. I can feel it. And I wore a size twelve pants the other day to work. They were tight, but not obscene. And I didn't even wear a tunic-tent to hide my ass. This is big news, people.

Stay tuned for my adventures in becoming the supermom I know I was meant to be.

With plenty of drama, I'm sure.

My poor, pathetic blog

2007-03-06T09:09:00.000-05:00

I really have been neglectful. I think the only one who reads anymore is my mom (hi mom!), so I just fell away for awhile. The holidays, followed by a weird month of blizzards and ice storms, several trips up home, a new additional business kicked off for me, a bunch of tragedy up home with my family, and just life itself has taken a toll on my wanting to share.

Even with so much going on, I feel I have nothing to say. Don't take me off your rolls just yet. Perhaps I'll come into money and have all kinds of free time for journaling, or something amazing will happen that I just HAVE to tell you about. But until then, I'm just hanging out here in Indy, waiting for inspiration to strike.

Love and peace, y'all.
A

Cinderelly, Cinderelly

2006-12-18T18:09:00.000-05:00

Grammar Lesson

2006-12-13T20:07:00.000-05:00

Overheard in the car, talking about friendship:

Boy: y'all are my friends

Girl: No! No! No! It's "ALL Y'ALL are my friends", buddy!!

Because if you have nothing else, BRAG

2006-12-11T20:24:00.000-05:00

I've been round the world and spent time in many stinky subway stations. Neener.

Got at b3co.com!

So, what's new with you?

2006-12-11T20:10:00.000-05:00

I would go into what's new with me, but not much of it is positive. It involves bills, cruddy insurance, phone calls from teachers, looking for a second job and wearing a rubber mouth guard for the next year, 24/7. Which is really not a cute look for applying for a job in customer service. Or anything in the public eye, really.

But as my mom likes to say, it's not cancer and no one is dying.

Well, except my uncle, but that's really another story. See a few posts below this one.

So, I'm a bit MIA. I hate whiny blogs, and I seem to be whiny person as of late. So I'm trying to keep the general public from my whiny-ness.

But what the heck. You guys are friends, right? I'm not alone in my blog-o-bitchiness recently, I'm sure of it. So join in. Touch base. What's new with you?

I am thankful for Chicken.

2006-11-23T18:53:00.000-05:00

Our families were otherwise occupied this year for Thanksgiving, so we did our first family feast at home. We woke up to cinnamon rolls and PBS in our jammies, then spent the day listening to Christmas music and putting up the decorations. This year, the Girlchild was as pumped as I was, so we actually got up and glowing in record time. It was *thisclose* to the Rockwellian traditional family day that I've always hoped we could have in my own adult home some day. And for that I am thankful.

But even more than the lovely day, I am thankful for Chicken. The preseasoned, pre trussed, little-pin-pops-out-when-its-done kind of chicken. Because as tempted as I was to eschew every tradition this year and order pizza this year for Thanksgiving dinner (is any pizza joint even OPEN on Thanksgiving?), I went ahead and cooked. Yams, cheesy cauliflower bake, homemade cranberries and noodles and crescent rolls with honey. And chicken. I have nothing against turkey, it's just that we had it last week and I'm over poultry. But it's easy to do (except when you cook it upside down and the thingy won't pop because it's face down in the pan) and, more importantly, my kids eat it. Except tonight.

Tonight, my lovingly prepared dinner was met with a chorus of "What IS this??" and "I don't like this" and "how much do I have to eat so I can have some candy".

There were complaints of a sore stomach and no less than three (seriously, three) crying fits. Thankfully none of them mine. I just ate and ate and drank my wine and enjoyed the chaos. And three helpings of cranberries alongside two of everything else. And only three whole bites of the apparently-this-evening-offensive chicken.

But I did learn that next year, I think I'll just take the show on the road to my mom's. Her turkey and gravy, though it may not be eaten by my ungrateful minions, will be eaten gratefully by me. Because I don't have to cook it.

What have YOU done?

2006-11-16T20:52:00.000-05:00

I totally stole this. And I'm not doing it because I think you care, but because I'm competitive with myself and feel the need to hit 30% of these things. If it's bolded, I've done it.

01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. Said “I love you” and meant it
09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise
14. Seen the Northern Lights
15. Gone to a huge sports game
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa.
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars
20. Changed a baby’s diaper
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. Watched a meteor shower
23. Gotten drunk on champagne
24. Given more than you can afford to charity
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
27. Had a food fight
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger
30. Had a snowball fight
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb
33. Seen a total eclipse
34. Ridden a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. Had two hard drives for your computer
40. Visited all 50 states
41. Taken care of someone who was drunk.
42. Had amazing friends
43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
44. Watched wild whales
45. Stolen a sign
46. Backpacked in Europe.
47. Taken a road-trip
48. Gone rock climbing
49. Midnight walk on the beach
50. Gone sky diving
51. Visited Ireland
52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them
54. Visited Japan
55. Milked a cow
56. Alphabetized your CDs
57. Pretended to be a superhero
58. Sung karaoke
59. Lounged around in bed all day
60. Played touch football
61. Gone scuba diving
62. Kissed in the rain
63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain
65. Gone to a drive-in theater
66. Visited the Great Wall of China
67. Started a business
68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken
69. Toured an ancient site
70. Taken a martial arts class
71. Played Dungeons & Dragons for more than 6 hours straight
72. Gotten married
73. Been in a movie
74. Crashed a party
75. Gotten divorced
76. Gone without food for 5 days
77. Made cookies from scratch
78. Won first prize in a costume contest
79. Ridden a gondola in Venice
80. Gotten a tattoo
81. Rafted the Snake River
82. Been on television news programs as an “expert”
83. Got flowers for no reason
85. Been to Las Vegas
86. Recorded music
87. Eaten shark
88. Kissed on the first date
89. Gone to Thailand
90. Bought a house
91. Been in a combat zone
92. Buried one/both of your parents
93. Been on a cruise ship
94. Spoken more than one language fluently well enough to have a decent conversation
95. Performed in Rocky Horror
96. Raised children
97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking
103. Had plastic surgery
104. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived
105. Wrote articles for a large publication
106. Lost over 100 pounds
107. Held someone while they were having a flashback
108. Piloted an airplane
109. Touched a stingray
110. Broken someone’s heart
111. Helped an animal give birth
112. Won money on a T.V. game show
113. Broken a bone
114. Gone on an African photo safari
115. Had a facial part pierced other than your ears
116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
118. Ridden a horse
119. Had major surgery
120. Had a snake as a pet
121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
124. Visited all 7 continents
125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. Eaten kangaroo meat
127. Eaten sushi
128. Had your picture in the newspaper
129. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about
130. Gone back to school
131. Parasailed
132. Touched a cockroach
133. Eaten fried green tomatoes
134. Read The Iliad
135. Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read
136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. Skipped all your school reunions
138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. Been elected to public office
140. Written your own computer language
141. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream
142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
143. Built your own PC from parts
144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair
146. Dyed your hair
147. Been a DJ
148. Shaved your head
149. Caused a car accident
150. Saved someone’s life
151. Finished a marathon

And to make it a true Coup...

2006-11-10T17:23:00.000-05:00

There is a God

2006-11-08T13:32:00.000-05:00

And today he loves the Blue. :)

Dems take the House, Indiana boots some nasty reps, and Rumsfield steps down.

Let's wait on VA and see if it can be a total coup. :)

Happy Halloween Everyone

2006-10-30T21:12:00.000-05:00

I want a love like that

2006-10-17T08:12:00.000-04:00

I spent most of the weekend crying. Okay, well not the whole time, but this weekend was extremely emotional for me. Cousins I haven't seen in 7 years were in from California, visiting up at my mom's, so we drove up to see them. My mom had a couple open houses, so there was much food, even more family, and people coming in and out all weekend. Fifty seven individals, with several repeat visitors on Sunday.

The cousins who were in town have lost a mother and a sister in the last two years. One cousin who came to the open house is watching his wife waste away from Alzheimers in a nursing home. Another is a model-gorgeous 27 year old battling leukemia. I've never seen someone rock a headscarf like she does. My mom's brother was treated for a cancer in his head eight years ago, and is not recovering. He's basically withering away before everyone's eyes. He'll be 59 on Sunday, but he looks eighty. My family seems to be falling apart, literally.

But the coolest thing about my family? It was loud this weekend. Really loud. My family knows how to laugh. Hearing stories about the old days, when my grandma and her five siblings were children. About their mother and aunties. I have vague memories of these people, mostly of them just being old. But to hear about their adventures as people of twenty just made me smile.

Another aunt pulled me aside and talked about how her body is so old and worn, but her mind was still thirty two, like me. That she never thought she'd be old in a million years. Yet there she was, pushing eighty, a widow. Most of the old timers there were alone, spouse gone before. I can't imagine what that's like. Don't really want to.

But the hardest thing for me? My grandpa. My sweet grandpa, who taught me to polka. The tenderest soul I've ever known. He looked like Clark Gable back in the day, cool pencil 'stache and wavy dark hair. He danced with me on my wedding day, swirling me around the floor, laughing. His favorite saying when asked "how are you" is "fine as frog hair".

Grandpa isn't fine as frog hair anymore. He's old. He's tired. He uses a lawn tractor to traverse the property to my mom's house, has to take breathing treatments four times a day, and gets winded walking around the house. It's so very sad to me, mostly because I know his mind is sharp as a tack. He has the most beautiful blue eyes and an amazing smile. A war veteran, he refuses to talk about it. Won't watch any war movies. But did pull out a memorabilia box once that contained swastika pins, ones I'm assuming he gained from an enemy soldier. I never asked if that person was alive or dead. I don't think he'd tell me if I did ask. He's that kind of guy. He gets up every day before five, makes coffee and breakfast for grandma and my mom, takes care of his chickens out back, and still gets into town to sign the books at the VFW.

He's watching his son pass away before him, and I think it's aging him even more. He tried to talk about it with me this weekend, but teared up and had to stop. That's where my crying began. I feel like I need to immortalize this awesome guy, to talk about him BEFORE he's gone. He's outlived his parents, his siblings, and quite possibly his own son soon enough. He deserves to hear what people would say about him. I know I'd want to know.

So here it is. You are loved. You are an inspiration. You have taught me so much, from how to hatch a baby chicken to how to love your children unconditionally. You worked hard your whole life, but found time to play. You were a good father before the new era of "involved fathers as true parents" came about. I am so glad you got to see my kids and they got to know you. To see you wear your Santa tie at Christmas. To ride on your tractor.

The most touching part of the weekend came not in hugs and tears, but in a smile. My grandpa got up out of his chair with some difficulty, breath heavy, and crossed through the living room to the kitchen. My grandma was sitting alone on the couch, taking in the scenery. I watched from across the room as she watched him. Her eyes weren't filled with worry, as they usually are. They were filled with wonder. As he left the room, a small smile crossed her lips. Not for show, but because she loves him that much. They've been married sixty years and she still watches him move. She still smiles to herself when she sees him. Sixty years and you actually see the love.

They make me want to love better, love more. Hug my kids and my parents. Love my husband and show him more often.

My family is my heart. I've always said it, but never really experienced it until fifty people tromped through the living room, ate party food, laughed and cried together.

I never really felt it until I saw my grandma's smile.

This is my grandpa, probably even before he was a father. Definitely before the cool 'stache.

My favorite photo from my wedding album. *That* is my Bampaw.

I am old

2006-10-10T21:57:00.000-04:00

But I haven't lost all rhythm.

I am back to dance class. Finally have a normal schedule I can work around and signed up for a six week pilot class at my daughter's dance studio.

"Adult Hip Hop for Fitness"

There are only three of us in the class, and all of us have a bit of experience (even if said experience was fifteen years ago), so our instructor decided that he could really work us out and use big words, like "chaine and soutenous turns, develope, en lair, jazz squares and digs". Lost yet? Yeah, me too.

I mean, I took ballet about a zillion years ago. Then I took some jazz in college. Then I indulged in some musical theater choreographic hackery. Then I took the crazy hip hop class with Svetlana last summer. Now I have a former male ballet professional (read: HOT, STRAIGHT and NOT AN OUNCE OF FAT) teaching me to do pas de bourre-push turns to "Yeah" by Usher.

Don't get me wrong. I worked it. I did my jete runs around the floor, and didn't pause when my tank top lifted and rolls of stretchmarked fat spilled out. I didn't stop after doing a full floor's length of turns on releve, even though I finished feeling dizzier and drunker than a night of Mike's Hard Lemonade and Tequila Shooters. I even kept going when my pop ups had more junk shaking than a Ludacris video.

I was able to keep my head up and keep up with the class. My instructor even agrees with me that GWB is a fathead and democracy is overrated (don't ask).

He worked my ass off. I'm hot, sweaty, tired, winded, and a bit dizzy.

I'm actually looking forward to going back next week.

But I think I'll invest in a good a foundation garment.

Because my blog is dying, and this is therapy for me

2006-09-22T20:36:00.000-04:00

Stolen from Polichick.

List ten things you want to say to people you know but you never will, for whatever reason. Don’t say who they are. Use each person only once.

1. He isn't ever going to love you. Ever.
2. If you don't have a kid, you're going to regret it forever.
3. People don't need you as much as you need them to need you.
4. I wish I had your guts.
5. The world can't be your show all the time.
6. Don't do it unless you're absolutely sure.
7. You'll regret that you had that done in about twenty years.
8. I ended it with you because you're a fair weather friend.
9. I'm scared of how beautiful you are.
10. I love you that way, too.

Arguments for having more than one child

2006-09-08T08:24:00.000-04:00

1. If they get up before you, the girl will hoist the boy out of his crib, bring him downstairs, get them both a poptart and set themselves up on the couch watching Tom and Jerry. She will not, however, change his puffy wet diaper. You take what you get here, mom.

2. The girl will have friends over to play dress ups and makeup. She will include her little brother and he will also rival the prettiest painted lady in the land.

3. You'll overhear the little brother tell the big sister that she is his "best friend".

My mom is a hot grandma

2006-08-30T09:01:00.000-04:00

So my mom turned fifty five a few weeks ago. I was fortunate enough to host her here in Indy for the morning at my salon. She got the works: waxing, facial, chemical peel, hair color and style. She looked AMAZING.

But the real present came afterward: my brother and I bought my mom a Tattoo.

Yep, my quiet, country girl, Elvis and God loving mother is tattooed.

She's been talking about it for ages, and has always had a healthy interest in my tats and my brother's awesome work. Her only real protestations were bogus: don't know what I'd get, where I'd put it, and "my mom would kill me". I'm of the opinion that if you are old enough to join the AARP, you don't need your mother's approval for body modification, but that's just the rebel in me, I suppose.

So, we came up with ideas for design, ideas for where to put it, and ideas on how to break the news to grandma. We also put down a sizeable deposit, so she had no reason to protest.

She was actually really excited about the idea, and went through with it like a champ. I'm very proud of my brave momma.

The only time I thought she'd falter was just as the artist leaned in to begin. Her eyes became saucers and she looked at me like "what the hell did you get me into?" as her fingers squeezed mine into a twisted mass of phalanges.

I had told her it really didn't hurt that bad, which isn't a lie. I really actually enjoy getting them. Masochistic, perhaps, but it's really no big deal to me. My mom, however, actually called me a "fucking liar" and that it hurt "way worse than I was expecting".

So, there you go. Tomato/tomahto, doesn't hurt so much/fucking liar. To each her own.

But my mom is now the proud owner of three beautiful yellow roses across the small of her back: one for her amazing husband (who was totally into his wife getting inked...thinks it's hot) and one each for her even amazing-er children. :)

Happy Birthday, hot momma.

Back to School Blues

2006-08-23T11:44:00.000-04:00

I've been typically MIA for awhile. So much to get done at the close of summer, so little time. The Princess started first grade, and the DQM has already received a phone call from her music teacher that she isn't paying attention in class. THE SECOND DAY OF SCHOOL.

Now, if it were *me* teaching, (but I'm not a teacher) I would try and resolve the issue myself. See, *I* would be the teacher. The six year old? The student. Whom I would discipline. Or move to the front of the room, instead of allowing her to sit anywhere she likes. If I were the teacher, I might try and resolve the issue once before calling in the parents. But of course, I am *not* the teacher. The REAL teacher in this scenario called the mother of said six year old to ask what she should do.

It's music class. Once a week, a half hour. I'm not saying my kid shouldn't be held responsible and shouldn't pay attention. But I am saying that receiving a call about your child misbehaving on her second day of first grade is a bit disconcerning. Was a phone call really necessary?

Here's a mini script:

(Phone rings at 3:15pm)

Teacher: Is this the DQM, the Princess's mother?

DQM: Yes, it is. Is she okay? Did she get hurt on the playground?

Teacher: No, no. It's Mrs. Music Teacher. Today was our first day with her class, and we're having a few problems that I just wanted to alert you to and nip in the bud.

DQM: (internally groaning) Really? What's going on?

Teacher: Well, we had a bit of this with her last year, but she really doesn't want to pay attention in class. She likes to flip her legs up in the air a lot and I spent more than 50% of my time telling her to sit still and pay attention.

DQM: Hmmmm. That's not good. Are the kids sitting on the floor?

Teacher: Yes, they sit on risers in the room.

DQM: And do you assign where they should sit?

Teacher: No, no, I let them sit wherever they want.

DQM: And where does the princess like to sit?

Teacher: Oh, she always goes straight to the top and sits in the back.

DQM: So make her sit up by you. Make her pay attention to you. (Thinking: um, you're the teacher, right? So be in control)

Teacher: HMMM. So that would be okay with you? Maybe I'll try that.

DQM: Considering this is not a report I've gotten from any classroom teacher so far, I'm assuming she's bored. And when she's bored, she spaces out. And if you don't have her close by you, keeping an eye on her, she's going to space out, roll around, whatever. She is six, after all.

Teacher: Oh, okay. I will try that. Maybe the first six weeks or so? You think?

DQM: (over this conversation two minutes ago) That's a great idea. I'll talk to her tonight and go over the expectations of behavior, and you put her up in front by you next time, mkay?

A few niceties, then I hung up.

Am I wrong in thinking this was a bogus phone call? I have met this woman. She is small, dowdy, mousy, maybe mid forties. Half of the fifth graders at this school could beat her up. Is she picking on my little bitty blonde baby because it's a battle she can win, or is my kid really the devil incarnate?

Considering the one morning spent in her classroom last year, I'm shocked that *my kid* was the one whose parent got a phone call. There were kindergarteners in her class that hit, cursed, ran around the room, drew on the walls, hit some more, screamed at the teachers when being disciplined, and kicked over furniture.

Again, no excuse for not sitting up and paying attention, but a phone call to the parents over this? Really? Really??

At least we have air, right?

2006-08-06T23:39:00.000-04:00

We just went a whole morning without water. Because our water heater was messed up. Yep, just two days after we paid out the ass to have our furnace and ac replaced, the water just kept coming. Thankfully, it turned out to be some copper pipes and washers that my FIL and husband were able to replace. It's a bandaid, but may prevent us from adding Hot Water Heater to our list of "replaced in 2006".

We still don't have electricity in two upstairs rooms. Have been showering in the dark since before the fourth of July. It happened the day the roofers came to replace the roof. We think we found it the problem today in the attic (exhaust fan rewired improperly). THANK GOD it's a bill we will be able to pass onto our contractor.

But seriously? Enough is enough. Could my house just be nice and not JANK ASS for just a month or two? Please?

What's better than camping in 95 degree heat?

2006-07-31T12:32:00.000-04:00

Coming home last night to discover our Air Conditioner has bit the big one. So now I live in a home where it's 95 degrees out in the shade. I have my television volume all the way up to hear it over the umpteen fans I'm running so I don't DIE.

Oh, and even better? According to estimates today, we're going to be really, really poor for some time to come in order to replace that bitch.

Oh I love life. I really really do.

Just not today.

Make my ass look amazing

2006-07-19T18:34:00.000-04:00

So every time those Brit Fashion Police girls are on Oprah, I want to fling myself at their mercy and make them style me.

This week they did bras and jeans. Apparently my bras are all wrong, but I have too much invested in my bra wardrobe to change it all up now.

My question is: every madeover woman was put in jeans that made them look tall, slender and gave the impression of an amazing ass. I want those jeans!! The companies most noted were Citizens of Humanity and Joe's Jeans. Not being a fashionista, I went online. These jeans cost $160!!

Being the tightwad that I am, I just about died. But I am *thisclose* to thinking I'd actually save with these jeans in mind, if they really did make my ass look that fabulous. One pair. It can live behind glass with my amazing purple Coach purse.

Do any of you have "amazing ass", albeit expensive jeans? And is it worth it when I'd be afraid to wear them out for fear of applesauce stains and chocolate fingerprints??

Where is the summer going?

2006-07-10T09:16:00.000-04:00

Just damn. It's already coming on the middle of July, and the Princess goes back to school on August FIFTEENTH. Um, color me crazy, but isn't that still the heart of the dog ass hot summer? Not the fall. Not even the LATE summer. But still summer. How not fair to have to go back to school in the middle of August. I mean, she's never known different, so I guess to her it's just life, but is it just me or did school actually start in September when we were kids? You know, AUTUMN?

And speaking of summer: that quote about "lazy days" of summer? That's crap. I'm running around like a madwoman. Family trips, campouts, day cares, cheer camps, ballet classes, work, trainings for work, cookouts, the beach, Chicago in two weeks (American Girl store and Cafe....lord help me, it's begun). Now granted, most of this stuff isn't mandatory. We could certainly sit around all summer and go nowhere. No camps, no classes, quit driving all over the dang state, etc. But then we'd whine we were bored. And I feel like since the Princess only gets about two whole months of summer, we should make the most of it: squeeze in as much fun as one family can take.

But all that fun takes a toll. I'm tired. I'm crabby. I'm getting fatter with all the food I eat at these cookouts and campouts and family gatherings. And as much time as I'm spending with my family, I feel like I haven't really seen my husband all summer long. One date all summer. Which was awesome, but once is just a tease. No babysitters left around here. At least none that will barter a service. Because if you pay what a babysitter charges, you are left no money to go out and take advantage of said service.

Wow. I am crabby. Don't be pissy and post a blog. People will think you're a big fat whiner. That's okay, right now I kinda am.

The latest from the Royal Family

2006-06-30T08:27:00.000-04:00

Not much to say here. We're heading to the beach for the fourth. Pray for no rain. Entertaining two kids in one tent in the rain is a bit much to ask for. They are putting on a new roof today (hail damage), so that is cool...we'd need to do that in a year or two before we sell, anyway.

New job is rocking.

Kids are at amazing ages. Here's some cuteness for your holiday weekend:

Look out Couric

2006-06-20T18:55:00.000-04:00

Wasn't it Katie Couric that got a colonoscopy on National TV, live? For the sake of journalism and our colonic health, right?

Well, I wasn't filmed, and I'm really not interested in looking out for the nations' digestive systems, but today? I did a Couric.

Without going into TMI (which I think I've already crossed that bridge), it took less than a half hour, it was completely painless, and not the big, dreaded anxiety I had been building up in my mind for more than a week.

The best part were the IV drugs. Demerol, man. I heard that is an option sometimes for childbirth. I now see why. It is exactly 10 hours since the roto-rooter disguised as a handsome asian doctor told me I'd hear from pathology in less than two weeks, and I'm still feeling really high and woozy. Also, that the whole day *may* have occured only in a long, weird dream. Apparently with the pain meds, they administer a slight amnesiatic drug as well, that makes you question your very existence on this plane, in addition to making you forget any pain the scope may have caused.

So, there's my PSA: Colonoscopy is usually for senior citizens. Or at least the over 55 set, as my mom gently reminded me today that the doc is calling for her to get one this fall as part of her regular checkups. But if you ever are faced with one, it's really no big. Just block off your whole day for sleeping, and don't try and operate a car or a stove, or a cellphone. Also, don't make any plans or promises or sign any legal documents within 24 hours. But most of all, don't be afraid. Put on your best brave Katie Couric face and do what you gotta do.

And pray you didn't call your ex boss and call him an asshat whilst in the throes of Demerol fever. That part *had* to be a dream, right?

Four.

2006-06-14T22:14:00.000-04:00

This is the number of stories I saw that lead the news tonight at ten. All four of them were about children: missing, dead, endangered. Seriously, what the FUCK is going on out there? So glad I live in nice, boring, Indiana, where nothing exciting happens. Jesus, I may as well just move my kids to downtown NYC and hope for the best. At least there maybe I can act for a living.

Story number one: A man separated from his wife abducted his two and four year old boys at knifepoint, hid with them for a few hours, stabbed them, slit their throats, stabbed himself and then dove with them into the river. The four year old died, the two year old is downtown at Riley and will recover. The man lives, OF COURSE.

Story number two: A few weeks ago, a family of seven were murdered in their home on the east side. Their accused killer has new charges against him, even before his inital hearing: threatening the lives of a prison guard and his family. Smooth, asshole. Really good defense.

Story number three: Three more children abducted in Southern Indiana tonight, presumably by their father.

Story number four: big drug bust, near east side. Found in the fray? Several loaded and cocked guns shoved under the couch cushions. On top of the cushions? A sleeping nine month old baby. Mom, nineteen, was down the street at the time of the bust. Good job, mom.

And I just about berate myself if I forget to pack enough healthy foods in my kids' lunches.

This is exactly why I cannot watch the news. I just can't.

From the big birthday weekend

2006-06-04T20:28:00.000-04:00

From this weekend:

Cowboy WeeMan

My brother with his cowboy gangsta look

With a new toy

His "did you know that a whole bottle of red food coloring still makes a pink cowboy boot" cake

Dammit woman! I said quit taking pictures!

Trying on a drug helmet. Or being Aunt Jemima

And one of the Princess, just because.

The unveiling

2006-05-29T12:01:00.000-04:00

Pay no attention to the rashy stuff...apparently its all the masses of HAIR growing back. The tattoo is based on the Celtic knotwork for "motherhood", with each sphere representing one of the children. The Princess tells me she's the one on top, since she came first.

No picture, still crusty

2006-05-22T18:44:00.000-04:00

So this tattoo thing. I really love it. I feel all sexy and rebellious. But also a bit fat around the middle, since I have to lift the back of my shirt up to show it and the muffin top is clearly evident. But I'm still showing it to anyone who asks. But no photo yet. It's healing, and it's a bit weird looking.

Also? It's surrounded by pink dots. I thought at first it was a weird ink reaction, but then my husband gently told me that it's probably from the hair growing back in...from where they SHAVED MY BACK.

I don't need to shave my back. I mean, don't get my wrong, lots of women get it waxed, it's a genetic thing. And believe you me, I know from waxing hair....I also know it's just something they do before a tattoo, regardless of the area. If it has hair (downy and fine or coarse and wiry) they have to shave it.

But dammit if my sweet hubby doesn't have the way with words.

Happy Anniversary to you too, my dear. Seven years married, Lucky Thirteen together. I love you, baby. Enough to offer to wax those hairy patches off your love handles.

Tattoed, baby!!

2006-05-15T18:00:00.000-04:00

It's done, and it only took a bit more than an hour. It looks BEAUTIFUL, if I do say so myself. Best mother's day present ever. I'd show a photo, but it's a bit gross and bloody right now. By the end of the week. Promise.

Children will listen.

2006-05-08T21:08:00.000-04:00

Seeing "Into the Woods" with good friends this weekend has me really thinking on its messages. "Careful the things you say, children will listen" has a certain resonance this week. Scene: dinner. Players: the Royal family.

King Jer: Eat your chicken, boy.

Wee Prince: No! Orange!

KJ: You have to eat some chicken before you can have oranges, buddy.

WP: NO! Orange!

KJ: Chicken first.

WP: Orange!

KJ: Prince, chicken.

WP: DADDY CHICKEN!!!

DQM and KJ just lose it laughing at this point, as the Prince has taken his chicken nugget and held it out to his father in defiance, daring *him* to eat the offensive piece of processed white chicken parts.

The Princess: You guys, DO NOT encourage him.

Little Big Man

2006-05-04T22:18:00.000-04:00

You are the smallest "big guy" I've ever seen: you are a full person, shrunk to two feet tall. Charming and devious, with a grin that lights up the space around you. You're my commedian. The one that can get away with anything by doing it with a goofy grin and asking for reasurrance: "Good boy, mommy"? People are drawn to you. They want to hug you, touch your cheek, ruffle your hair, just be near you. You, on the other hand, want to run, jump, play, and run some more. I can snuggle you for all of two seconds before you tell me "det down, Mommy", and jump out of my arms and on to the next adventure. Stubborn as the Taurus sign you were born under, and always wary of new people. You cling to my leg and hide your face, but are sure to peek out to be sure the stranger is still trying to make contact with you.

You're the welcoming committee...just tonight at Wendy's, you said "hi" to no fewer than fifteen people, who were all charmed by your toothy smile and big wave (from the safety of your chair planted firmly next to me, of course). In the same twenty minutes, you managed to chase half of these diners to the opposite side of the dining room with a rage induced by us making you actually EAT those chicken nuggets.

You're a powerhouse, only behind your big sister by 9 pounds. You bowl through life with more energy than any person I've met. How you do it on so little sleep amazes me...you're up at least twenty minutes before I am, before the *sun* is, holding the edge of your crib and jumping up and down. The squeaky crib has become my alarm, followed by the persistent call: "Mommy....Mom-may....Mooommmm-mmmaaayyy".

You make me laugh every day. But seeing you turn into a toddler and become less and less a baby every day...just makes me teary. You're an amazing little man, Wee Prince. And I can already tell you'll be a heartbreaker. Mine breaks just a bit every time I hold you close and know you can't be my baby boy forever.

I am not dead

2006-05-02T08:46:00.000-04:00

Though I feel sorta like I could be. And this place I live in is just some holding area before God figures out if I'm heading north or south. Life is exsisting in two parallel universes: I am happy with it, loving the kids, in a great place with my husband, nice house, finally in a career I can get behind. On the other plane, I'm confused, lonely, freaking out and wondering what's next.

There isn't one thing I can point to that is making me feel so anxious. Possibly because my last baby boy is turning two on Thursday. I'm incredibly sad about that, even though I know in my heart that stopping at two kids is a good choice. My two best friends in the world live what seems like worlds away from me. My job is sketchy right now, as business has dropped to an all time low and my paycheck dropped with it: if it doesn't pick up in the next month, I'm looking at staying home for the summer with the kids...daycare is more expensive than what I'm making right now. And though a summer of pools, bike rides and possibly a few beloved naps sounds fun, the thought of attempting to be employed again in the fall makes my skin crawl. Also the thought of my husband's mental state when we're back to one paycheck...not a happy one.

I'm a firm believer in "what is meant to be will happen". God puts us on the right path, wether we buy it at the time or not. So purgatory it is. And I'll just keep plugging along until the next choice has to be made.

So that's it: I'm still alive, though I have nothing brilliant or funny to share with you. And I'll be back in two days to write something sappy and sweet for my son, who, did I mention, is going to be an official TODDLER in two days?

My birthday gift

2006-04-14T22:12:00.000-04:00

You’ve crossed an unspoken threshold: from a little girl to just “a kid”. From my baby to my big girl. As I watch you fall asleep, here on the eve of your sixth birthday, I am reminded of that little baby we brought home, with her perfect little rosebud lips, deep blue eyes, curled up little fists, and shock of black hair. Now you are all long limbs and tangled blonde curls, with the same lips, but eyes that have lightened to the color of a summer sky. Your tiny pudgy legs are now long and lithe. What used to squirm, crawl, kick and wiggle now dances, runs, leaps and twirls. The tiny fingers that used to clamp over mine while holding you close now have fingernails painted to look just like mine, dirt from today’s recess beneath them, and red fingertips from the markers that didn’t wash off after art class. You now use them to write entire stories and draw incredibly detailed pictures, when once we thrilled when you understood the difference between a circle and square. The cooing, giggling and “mama” has now become an amazingly mature, throaty voice that recites the Pledge of Allegiance, sings every pop tune on the radio by heart, and, when paired with rolling eyes, speaks perfect exasperation with every “Moooo-oooom!” My little baby in pink sundresses and matching hats now requests capris and boots, dresses with flip flops, and insists that her black legwarmers with the rhinestones go with everything. In the eyes of my baby girl, I saw an incredible future: one of laughter and love, of hope and sacrifice, of faith, disappointment, bravery and hard-earned lessons. That girl could be anything she put her mind to: a doctor, a humanitarian, a CEO or a superstar. In the lighter blue eyes of my big girl, I see the same…even moreso now that her incredible personality is becoming alive inside that tall, graceful body. You tell me you want to be a ballerina and a veterinarian. You also want to be a mommy of twin baby girls and someday travel to Vietnam, to meet the family of a schoolmate. Tears begin to form when I remember back on that gift that God let us borrow from him, that beautiful little angel I carried. Mine alone for nine months, sharing everything, perhaps even a bit of my soul. I only let them fall when I think about the gifts you give back to me every single day. Happy Birthday, my beautiful girl.

Happy Birthday to me

2006-04-13T08:01:00.000-04:00

Ah yes, you may all send me good wishes and love now. Why else do people post it's their birthday? Oh, and I prefer Fannie May Chocolates. The ones with the buttercream centers. Thankyouverymuch.

Ah, naps

2006-04-10T13:24:00.000-04:00

I am rediscovering the joy of the nap. In fact, this is my ONLY day off with no kids underfoot, so after they went to school, I came back, crawled into bed, and slept another three hours. Ah, bliss.

I never understood those who do not enjoy a nap. My almost-six-year-old, for one. She gave them up at age three.

I, however, have always loved to sleep. I was the first one out at slumber parties (don't ask how many bras I've had frozen), the first to want to go home and crawl into bed after much festivities out at bars, the girl who scheduled college courses so I could fit a nap in between lunch and my 2:30 MWF Theater History course.

Damn, all this talk of sleep has me tired out. I think I still have a few hours of rest before I go get the kids. My other option is cleaning this pit of a house. Nah...the cool and comfy goodness of my t-shirt sheeted bed are calling to me.

so this is why I can't stand it here

2006-04-08T07:01:00.000-04:00

I actually belong here!

You Belong in Amsterdam

A little old fashioned, a little modern - you're the best of both worlds. And so is Amsterdam.
Whether you want to be a squatter graffiti artist or a great novelist, Amsterdam has all that you want in Europe (in one small city).

What European City Do You Belong In?

I was in Amsterdam. Twice. Suprised I remember so much of it.

So I succumbed

2006-04-06T08:13:00.000-04:00

To the dark side that is myspace. I started going there when friends told me that you could look up your little cousins and see if they are selling their bodies and posting maxim pictures. Then I found my alma mater and a few old friends. Then I got my own page. Then I brought in movie graphics, a soundtrack, and God help me...blinkie icons. Yes, there it is. I now have blinky icons on my new myspace page.

And I can't stop playing with it. I keep going out there and stalki...I mean, looking up old flames, old enemies, old professors. It's addictive.

As if I needed one more diversion on the internet that I really don't have time for.

If you want to see the proof of my sick, sick, sick addiction, you can find the link to my page on the right.

Yes, it's distorted...

2006-03-27T07:35:00.000-05:00

My size, that is. My head is gargantuan in this photo. Do not, however, be fooled that the tshirt is a trick of photoshop. It is indeed what I wore in high school. I also wore it under my sweater to the JK concert last month, just in case I got wild and crazy and got to flash him in the front row. Oh, before anyone makes note of my disturbing haircut (which in light of the shirt may not be the most disturbing thing I've got going here)...I've finally cut bangs again, so my forehead is not the blinding wonder that it is here.

Life in the trenches

2006-03-19T18:31:00.000-05:00

I've been working for six weeks now. That may explain my absence a bit. I'm at work about 43 hours a week. Add an hour commute to that five days a week, and my time not spent at work is spent, well, doing other stuff. Writing has taken a back seat.

But I will use these few free moments to share with you what I've experienced thus far as an esthetician. I have met some very interesting clients, and had some very interesting things happen. Here's the short list:

1. Greeting a male client on the massage table, nude, neglecting to cover himself. A fine introduction. Said client has returned four times in a week and a half. I think I may have a new work boyfriend, much to my chagrin.

2. While giving a massage, I seat myself on a rolling stool at the foot end of the table to work the feet. One time while going to sit on said stool, it rolled out from under me and I landed square on my ass, still holding the client's foot.

3. Priviledged housewives with more money than sense usually tip you about $2.44 on an eighty dollar service. Here's a hint, folks. We salon folks work in a SERVICE industry. Tipping is customarily 15 to 20% of the service cost. I don't booth rent, I work on commission. I don't get to keep that eighty bucks. I get about thirty of it. And though I am at work forty hours, thirty bucks doesn't constitute my hourly rate. I average about ten bucks an hour, just like the rest of you working class folks.

4. Don't give a bikini wax to a pregnant woman in her first trimester. It hurts like a bitch. And I'm not kidding when I warn you of this, ma'am. Please trust me. Or, you could just about leap off the table and quit halfway through the service and walk out lopsided...don't blame me because I told you so.

5. I turned a man into a woman yesterday. He was going to a switch party and needed help looking like a "passing" woman, not a drag queen, or a guy wearing his grandma's housecoat. He called me two hours after he left my salon a "she", telling me that I rock and that he would be wanting to do this again, because it was so fun freaking out his friends. Quietly, I may have just created a new transvestite. And he was GORGEOUS.

6. Waxing backs is so freaking fun. Seriously. I want someone to yell "Kelly Clarkson!" and make my day. The closest thing to that was when a client accused me of being a sadist. Funny thing is, I *was* enjoying it a bit too much.

7. I really don't like doing massage. It's boring. And it makes my hands and back hurt. Chances are your massage therapist is planning her vacation, going over shopping lists, and figuring out what to make for dinner whilst doing her best effleurage movements over your quads. I know that's what I do.

8. I don't get paid enough to massage your butt.

9. One client who had OCD came in for an eyebrow wax. She wouldn't lay on the table, only sit. Which poses a problem when you are that old and your eyelid basically lays like a hood over your eye when you are upright. I have to pull the crap out of your eyelid in order to spread the skin enough to not wax your skin right off. She complained that the wax was too hot, the tweezers hurt too much, and did I disinfect those tweezers? Finally finish, and go to show her in my hand mirror...she freaked out because she can't hold that mirror, it was too close to the floor...and could you please wash your hands before you touch me again because that dirty mirror was too close to the floor...and before she left, she asked if I had time to do her UPPER LIP AS WELL? Well, I guess I won her trust and a faithful client. Lucky me.

10. Being an esthetician rocks. For all the crazies, and bad tippers, and unsolicited nudity, there are a hundred more awesome clients. Like my 8am leg wax who brought me Krispy Kreme yesterday and my Friday morning massage client who makes wine and brought me a bottle in lieu of a tip the other day. And the guy who tipped me twenty bucks on a thirty five dollar service. Making money helping people look better and feel better. It's a damn fine living.

Depressingly boring

2006-03-13T07:57:00.000-05:00

Is my life right now. Not living it, but writing about it. Job is good...kicking my ass. I'm gone way too much. After some more time spent building trust there, I will be trying to finagle fewer hours, but until then, I'm working hard. But the money? Is great.

Family is good. The Wee Prince is talking now. Really talking. And it's adorable. The princess will be six next month, and is actually not doing anything crazy worth mentioning.

My husband and I are rediscovering a closeness that had gone away for awhile. And that rocks. It could be that I'm now bringing home money, which pays more bills, which destresses everyone. So I am not going to complain about work.

Or my kids, or my husband, or my life.

So what's left to blog about?

Obsessions revisited

2006-02-28T07:16:00.000-05:00

When I was a teenager, I was obsessed with New Kids on the Block. Don't laugh. You have embarassing hair bands or boy bands, or Clay Aiken. I had Jordan. Owned every bit of merchandising you could own. Exhibit A:

As I got older, my obsession waned, and I moved on to what my roomates in college called my "female misery music": Tori Amos, Indigo Girls, etc. But I have always held a special place in my heart for boy bands.

This Sunday night, a good HS friend of mine made a pilgrimage to the hometown to see a concert. Yes, folks, Jordan Knight is making the Casino Boat circuit. A small ballroom, with drunk women in their twenties and thirties hollering "We love you, Jordan!" Jordan, still looking good, prancing about like the God of 1990 that he was, but a bit more tired looking. And his falsetto? Fell flat many times. I was looking forward to hearing his new stuff, plus maybe a few old NKOTB hits thrown in for nostalgia. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a big New Kids karaoke...He'd start singing a song, then put the mic out for us to finish it. I'm like "Dude, I know the tickets were only fifteen bucks, but I didn't pay to listen to the drunk girls sing." And his secret was out a while ago when he was on VH1's Surreal Life Two: he's a prima donna. And a big whiny baby. But he didn't look quite so puffy as he did on the show. Got buff for touring, apparently. And the Surreal Life AllStars that he'll be filming in September.

But it was fun. We did the Right Stuff Dances and waved our hands in the air like we just didn't care. We laughed at how old we all were. We even got our pictures taken with the opening act...some 98 degrees guy that is trying to go solo a la The Lachey boys. At least he was out there meeting the people, posing for photos. To get a "meet and greet" pass for a crummy Jordan Knight autograph? Fifty bucks.

And we had to drive home from Indy. Us old chicks had to work on Monday.

Also? I got pulled over going through a tiny town in Northern Indiana...going forty five in a thirty five. Luckily the cop took pity on us old chicks reliving our youth with the sleeping babies in the backseat at one thirty in the morning. He let me off without even a warning.

But he did tell us to "keep Hanging Tough" as he walked back to his vehicle.

You may be able to go back, but it's never quite the same.

Art the Fart

2006-02-22T18:12:00.000-05:00

In discussing this week's blog discovery debacle with my best friend, she made me feel a lot better. I was obsessing about hurting someone's feelings. She then reminded me that I'm a good person, who would go out of my way to NOT hurt someone's feelings. And that tone can be misconstrued in writing. She reminded me that this is an entertaining blog (most days) and that anyone who really knows me would know I meant no harm. And that all you can do is apologize and move on. Then she said three words that made it all better: Art the Fart.

Art was a little fat kid in kindergarten. You all had them. Even at age five, kids can be cruel. My daughter is already telling me about the little boy that no one is nice to because he's fat. I can't believe it, but then I think back to Art. He was a quiet kid and didn't cause trouble. But no one was really kind to him and he ended up tagged with a monniker that I wonder to this day if he still thinks of it: Art the Fart.

The day of the kindergarten field trip, my mom chaperoned. The only time I remember her able to do so as a working mother. We paired up into partners for the trip...buddies, who needed to hold hands throughout the day. My mom pulled me aside and said: Angela, why don't you be Art's partner? No one wants to be with him, and that would be the kind thing to do.

So I was partners with Art the Fart. I still recall his tiny sausage-y fingers wrapped in mine, walking around the tiny zoo, looking at the monkeys, the lizard house, the lone lion. And I actually felt good, being kind to someone who hadn't seen much of it in his short five years.

There is a post script to this story. From that point forward, I became the patron saint of the friendless: Christina who peed her pants on the bus, Geraldine who always smelled like poop...you get the picture. I was queen of the dipshits, basically. But I didn't mind. It doesn't hurt you to be nice. And it doesn't make you unpopular to rub elbows with those who are shunned. Hell, it actually feels pretty good. And to this day, I always defend the underdog, feel sorry for the teased, and drop a dollar in the homeless guy's cup. And stress to my kid to be nice to that little chubby boy in her class.

So Art the Fart I became. I told this story in college, and got saddled with the name. As she reminded me tonight, my best friend and I met because I felt bad for her. Her roommate came across the hall and asked: Have you met my roommate yet? Oh. My. God. Her closet is FULL of Metallica tshirts...and I think she has a mullet. Not a big deal in '92, but at The Harvard of the Midwest, it was a cardinal sin. Of course I KNEW I had to be her best friend, even before I met her. I was The Queen of the Outsiders, after all.

And it took me only a few months to convince her to axe the mullet.

So anyway, she reminded me of Art. And that I am a good person. And I made a mistake, I apologized and need to move on. And so I shall.

But damn if I wish I remembered Art's last name. So I can Google him and maybe stalk him via his blog.

Busted!

2006-02-20T15:46:00.000-05:00

Don't ever write anything in a blog you wouldn't care if the world saw. Luckily, I'm a pretty honest person, and rarely say anything here I wouldn't say to your face. But I do feel bad, as I got an email from my high school boyfriend, telling me he found my blog and was disappointed. (About my entry following the wedding last summer when I ran into him.) He lives HOURS from here. We haven't seen each other in more than ten years, and have zero friends in common. Did he google me? Or is someone else out there reading and forwarding information on? Quite possibly his sister...who is out there online more. Who I didn't mention in the entry, but it was nice to see her there. She looked happy with her partner. It was refreshing to see her out...esp in our hometown, which isn't exactly a haven for liberalism. She was also one of the only people in his immediate family who was really nice to me back then.

I do feel badly. I wasn't very complimentary to him, his wife, or his mother. But I was glad that he was living the life he'd wanted so much, and the experience confirmed I was definitely *not* the person to share it with. Seeing him proved to me God's plan isn't always what *you* plan. And seeing him made me even happier with the life I have now. Though I am also married with kids now, it's still a completely different life. And we each have made those choices. I'm glad I made the choices I did. But I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't do a little skip when I opened up my email box and saw his name there. So maybe I'm not *totally* over him, as I'd thought. And he is still a good looking guy, just not the same guy I'd seen in dreams over the past ten years. And God knows we've BOTH put on about fifty pounds apiece since high school. So no one's perfect. I guess my whole point was about romanticizing and making your memories shine of perfection. Then reality sets in. And it's not so perfect.

He's right though, it was closure. I was shocked seeing him. I was taken aback at how different he'd become. He was so full of life, so handsome. Now he looked drained and tired. And said as much in my blog. I'm sure I hurt his feelings, and for that I am sorry. I emailed him back and said as much. I hope that is enough to close this chapter, and that he *is* truly happy in the life he's chosen. And I haven't woken up in tears since that wedding, from a dream where I'd completely ruined his life. So closure it was.

But should I find a package sent that's full of dogshit or a dead rabbit or something equally scary, I'm betting he pointed his mom in this direction. :)

Adventures in Waxing

2006-02-19T12:54:00.000-05:00

SO when I was in school, they talked about how if you do a waxing improperly, you can really bruise someone. I didn't get it. I mean, you pull a strip off, taking hair with it. You're not punching someone in the leg. I didn't understand the concept, until now.

Oh, don't worry. I didn't hurt a client.

I hurt myself.

I'm the only esthetician right now. This means I get all the clients and therefore, all of the money. Which is awesome. But I don't have anyone there to do *my* waxing. So last week, I had an hour to spare and thought I'd give it a try. Locked myself in my treatment room and got to work. Legs, not a problem. Except that one line behind your calf. You have to be Gumby to make that one work. But the legs are now relatively hair free, and there is much rejoicing. It's been six weeks, y'all.

So I move on. Or up. To the bikini line. I'm not going brazilian, just doing a quick cleanup, ya know? Until I can find another esthetician to give me a hand, I can just handle a bit of excess hair, right?

Turns out you *can* bruise someone. Pretty badly, in fact. Mostly if you're trying to pull a strip, hold skin taught, move quickly and cleanly...but using your right hand to pull across your body, both back and to the left. I'm here to tell you my friends, you just don't have enough hands to do this effectively by yourself.

And I have a purple, smarting crotchal area to show for it.

Whah.

Happy Blood Clot D...wait...

2006-02-13T16:24:00.000-05:00

I ususally take this time to rant about commercialized holidays, and then justify my husband's lack of attention to them by his constant and daily love and "it's the small things he does" line of reasoning.

But the boy came through. I will wear red tomorrow and follow the leagues of millions who believe in love.

My one day with the fam is Sunday and I was in training all day. I was really bummed when it ran over and I was racing home at 6 to try and get some time with them before bedtime.

I walked in the door and was met by the hubby, telling me to keep my coat on: the babysitter had already arrived and we were going out to dinner.

And it was my favorite dinner: penne rustica from Macaroni Grill, accompanied by a frozen peach bellini and rosemary bread dipped in oil. Followed by dessert. The best part of my Valentine's Dinner? What was lacking: kid placemats, sippy cups, high chairs and crayons. No trips to the potty as soon as my food arrived, no retrieving the spoon from the floor umpteen times, no bread thrown at my head, no "Girlchild, eat. Girlchild, eat. Girlchild, quit jacking around and please eat".

Bliss.

We got time to finally talk. Just us. About everything and anything. With NO interuptions. And he had planned it all ahead of time, which may be the most shocking and romantic part of the whole thing.

My little brother

2006-01-30T15:48:00.000-05:00

Can I just say how proud I am of my little brother?

See, Bryan is this big hulk of a man. His calves are as big around as my head. He's three years my junior, and for awhile, I beat him daily. He was a squirrelly kid with buck teeth and a buzz cut. He is still EIGHT in my mind, and I can't get my brain around him being grownup, with a home and a wife and a kickass job. I mean, eight year olds don't have sex or mow the lawn. Not.Okay.

But my Beezer Man wasn't always sucessful. He had a string of jobs that always seemed beneath him, following his few failed attempts at college. He's been through the illegal pleasures in life and managed to come out relatively unscathed. He and I never really connected as young people. After our parents' divorce, he withdrew to the basement and played D&D with friends, I acted out. I was the "smart one", he was the "funny one". He has this amazing charm that will get him out of any predicament that I always envied. And if nothing else, he's a bit of mom's favorite and can still get money if he needs it.

But after all that teasing...I mean a grown man who goes to Gaming Conventions? He's now the MASTAH of these conventions. He sits behind the booth and signs autograps. Because he is now a writer for this company and gets paid a good lot to do what he loves. He's a writer. And he's freaking good at it. He can't tell you who was president when America went to which war, but ask him about the Earth/Minbari war from Babylon 5, and he can tell you history in such detail you'll feel like sticking an eight sided die in each ear until his lips stop moving.

But damn, good for him. I'm an artist too, and don't get paid squat. I get to do it twice a year if I'm lucky, he gets to do it every day. And his company just sent him on a three month trip to Oslo, Norway. To write dialog for a VIDEO GAME. Dude. How freaking cool is that? Don't tell him I think so, though. Because heaven forbid I might actually go buy and play said game. Or even know what an eight sided die looks like, as referenced above. Or that I sometimes enjoy a quiet game of Puerto Rico or Settlers of Catan with neighbors on a Saturday night. Don't tell.

He's done all of this, but I can't get right with him being grown. He's still EIGHT, you know? He's still running around our house in frozen underwear, knocking on doors and pleading to be let in. I am not sure which evil big sister tricked him into putting them on and then pushed him outside, but damn, she was a b-i-t-c-h. He's still bugging me and my friends with his crazy faces and goony jokes. He's still going through his "I'm a scary Goth" phase, with his Jesus hair and his long black trench. He's still living in a flop house at Purdue, with freakish friends who have no jobs crash on his floor.

Who am I kidding? He's a grownup man now. One that I am immensely proud of. One I wish I could be closer with. You need to understan that The Little Prince? Is.my.brother.reincarnated. The same charm, the same devilish twinkle in his eye, and always the comedian. BryGuy doesn't have children yet...I pray he will, just because how much FUN are those kids going to have with my brother for a dad? And now I know how my little man might turn out. I will still give him hell if he plays dorky role playing games, but quietly I'll know it just may lead to something good.

And Bryan? After his final visit to my home before leaving for Norway, I discovered he'd left me a gift: that Big Bastard froze one of my bras and draped it across the freezer door.

Damn I love that guy. Cheers to you, BrubbaMan. You done good.

Who else would this blog be about?

2006-01-29T16:38:00.000-05:00

That's right. HG tagged me again, but I am taking a similar meme from SJ the Mom and making it mine. Because I can't think of anything else to write about.

Four jobs you have had in your life:

~Bar wench
~Academic Advisor
~Actor
~Esthetician (squee!)

Four reasons you've given for missing or being late for work:

~If I don't take a day off I might kill someone
~If I don't take a day off I might kill myself
~If you don't let me take a day off I'm going to hunt YOU down
~I have pinkeye.

Four movies you could watch over and over (and do):

~Forty Year Old Virgin
~Mean Girls
~Breakfast Club
~Heathers

Four places you've lived:

Damn, I only have three: Here in Indy, Up north in Indiana, and London.

Four TV shows you love to watch (currently, like last week):

~Survivor (February second, baby!)
~Buffy or Angel on DVD
~Bones
~Anything on FoodTV except Mario and that Giana chick

Four TV shows you hate to admit you watch on occasion:

~Any reality show on music tv: Made, Celebrity Fit Club, Pimp my Ride
~America's Next Top Model
~Babylon 5 on DVD
~Breakfast with Bear

Four movies you've never understood the hype about:

~Casablanca. I am just not feeling this movie.
~Anything to do with boxers or the sport of boxing
~Anything with Renee Zellweger in it. Except Jerry Maguire, because that was back in the day before her eyeballs did a great disappearing act along with her body fat.
~Godfather Trilogy. I quote it, I enjoy it, but a masterpiece? Meh.

Four (kind of obscure) lines from movies you quote often for no apparent reason:
(props to those knowing one or more of the movies)

~"Sorry I blew up your mom, Ricky"
~"I live a very fulfilling life!"
~"I could have been the walrus. I'd still have to bum rides off people."
~"Run away!!!"

Four people you could live happily without ever hearing from again:

~Paris Hilton
~Brangelina. Or TomKat. Or any other media dubbed siamese partnership.
~George W. Bush. Or any other dimwits in his administration. Including Pat Robertson.
~Did I already mention Renee Zellweger?

Four of your favorite foods:

~Pastries. Any kind, really, but if it has fruit and cream cheese on it, I'm all over it. Donuts are included in this category.
~Pizza. Thin crust, cheese and mushrooms please.
~A big fat green salad with pecans and berries and some kind of crumbly cheese on it.
~Ice Cream.

Four things you don't apologize for:

~My naive liberalism
~My love of Buffy and all things Joss Whedon
~My incredibly closeknit group of internet friends
~Being frugal and not understanding how people spend so much damn money on stupid shit.

Four sites you visit daily:

~This one...checking for your comments...so be a doll and indulge me.
~Delphiforums
~Yahoo (that's my email WITHOUT the spam)
~Hotmail (that's my email WITH the spam)

Do these things get a time stamp?

2006-01-24T02:57:00.000-05:00

Because mine should read about three in the morning. I've been rolling around up there in the bed for an hour, next to the skinniest man alive who can still manage to take up more than 3/4 of a full bed.

I'm having all kinds of weird dreams about terrorism, classical music, and protecting my kids all the while discussing with Kendra the pros and cons of visiting Ireland next year. WTF did all of that come from? And how did it all fit logically into one dream? No clue. I just need to stop my brain for a bit.

I'm obsessing about my new job. I'm obsessing about graduating from school. I'm obsessing about little stupid shit that means nothing to anyone but me. Stuff that can't be changed/fixed/whathaveyou for several years. My family back home is having some difficulties now and I can't be there for them. And it won't get better until I can move closer to them. That may or may never happen. I'm obsessing about a book full of Aveda product I need to learn and start using on complete strangers in three days.

With a brain that full of boring stupid shit, I'm wondering why I don't put *myself* to sleep. Instead, I'm headed over to the living room now to watch some fascinating informercials about some products I can obsess about having.

Freaking MeMes

2006-01-16T18:44:00.000-05:00

The first player of this game starts with the topic "five weird habits I have" and people who get tagged then write an entry about their five weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next five people to be tagged and link to their web journals. Don't forget to leave a comment in their blog or journal that says you have been tagged? (assuming they take comments) and tell them to read yours.

1. I have to touch everything with both hands. Everything, even if just feeling a pretty scarf or something in the store. BOTH hands.

2. I give my foods a personality and assign them before I eat. I always eat the most popular or prettiest food last.

3. I obsessively bite the inside of my cheek and tounge until they are raw. This WILL give me mouth cancer one day.

4. I can't take a bath or sit down to breakfast for more than five minutes without something to read. Therefore I eat breakfast in front of the computer every weekday and compulsively read cereal boxes if at the table.

5. I am obsessive about my eyebrows. You would be hard pressed to see me with any ungroomed strands of hair out of place. Go figure I'm the waxing queen. :)

I'm tagging five people, but am really dumb at html and don't have the ten minutes it'd take to figure it out. So here: Mr. Antrobus, Mich, Rainbow Fish, Lis and Ash.

Doing the "Happy Happy I Got a Job Dance"

2006-01-14T14:32:00.000-05:00

Because I did. Yay!

I'd post the website, but internet stalkers are everywhere, yo.

But it's an Aveda salon. I will be one of two estheticians, and they have been around more than twenty years, so there is a clientele there. I hope to build a business quickly and be rolling in the dough in no time.

Well, at least start paying off that student loan.

Backdoor Cowboys

2006-01-02T19:42:00.000-05:00

As my friend affectionately refers to it. Or, as it's actually titled: Brokeback Mountain. Dear God was this an amazing, amazing film. Beautifully acted, directed, written.

I actually got excited watching Jake Gyllenhal have hot monkey man love.

It's only showing at ONE theater here. In the eleventh largest city in the country and the capital of Indiana. We actually had to come back the next day, since the shows we wanted to see were sold out on Sunday. Because if you want to see it, you can only see it at this theater. In the CAPITOL of Indiana. How very sad for people who live in say, Rural Tennessee? No Gay Cowboy love for you, my friends. And that is just sad. This movie is about two people in love, who HAPPEN to both be men.

Also? I may have been one of four or five heteros in the sold-out theater. Which made for a great movie experience. No nervous tittering at the love scenes, and cheering when there was a big victory for the boys.

Today I simultaneously loved and hated my fellow man.

Kendra's here, Kendra's here!

2005-12-29T07:39:00.000-05:00

I'm about to be MIA for ten days. My Kendra is here. :) Ten days of finally having someone here who "gets" me. My stupid sayings, my strange TV affections, my love of some damn good coffee.

Yayayayayayayay!

Merry Christmas to me

2005-12-25T21:03:00.000-05:00

I am sitting in my quiet home, listening to my Elvis Christmas CD. I am eating buckeyes and sipping hot chocolate. I am basking in what was a fabulous holiday with loved ones. I am reveling in the fact that exactly one month from now I will graduate. I am loving that I actually have what I consider good job leads.

Did I mention it's quiet here? I am also three days without a family. I get to batch it for the better part of this week.

Damn it's quiet in here.

I miss my babies.

January 25th

2005-12-17T14:03:00.000-05:00

Looks to be the day I will graduate. It has gone really fast, yet I am counting the days till I can be done. Driving so far, missing my kids, wearing a uniform. I'm over it. I'm ready to just start ripping some hair out and getting a paycheck.

Other news: in case you were wondering, Viral Pinkeye is really bad. Really, really bad. 12 days contagious kind of bad. And when you work with your face right up in the client's face, that means Viral Pinkeye will keep you home several days, causing you to graduate a week after you'd assumed you would. It will also make you look like a pirate.

My Christmas Card to You

2005-12-07T07:12:00.000-05:00

We're too poor and too busy to even send cards to friends this year. So, because you're reading this, you may actually be a friend. A friend that I would have TOTALLY sent a card to, if we'd have been on the ball, say OCTOBER.

So after a long photoshoot Sunday, here's what we came up with:

Quotes from the Princess

2005-11-30T18:05:00.000-05:00

Apparently she has watched Mean Girls with me one too many times, because tonight she told me: "I'm popular, Mom".

Also? Last night she had an inspiration: "You know what, mom? This year, when Santa comes, I'm going to set up my camera to take a PICTURE of him, so I know what he REALLY looks like".

Of course, I told her that I think Santa is magic and can't have his photo taken on Christmas Eve night (like Vampires or something like that).

But what I really want to do is take a picture of me and Daddy trying to figure out how to put together her EZ Bake oven and trying to undo the American Girl Doll from all the ripcording and twist ties holding her to the box. Then give it to her in a few years and tell her that the camera actually DID work.

Christmas Number one: completed

2005-11-28T18:57:00.000-05:00

We just got back from the long weekend. We completed Thanksgiving, and Christmas with my family. Over the course of the weekend, I was able to refresh and renew my spirit, which I was definitely needing. We did a lot in four days:

Thanksgiving at the inlaws. I know now why my husband will never be a huge complimenter. His family is stone cold silent unless trading barbs, insulting each other, or telling each other to shut up. Thank God my husband is trying to do better than that for his own family.

Shopping, lattes and manicures/pedicures with my own mom, whom I haven't seen in almost four months. I needed my mommy something fierce.

I got to see Rent! Yay! Is it cinematic genius? No, but it will help me quell the need to see it again and again onstage for sixty bucks a pop when I can own it on DVD.

Christmas with my family. Lots of good food and all my family together. Small boy has a head cold, so he was a bear, and I don't remember what presents anyone else opened, but it was fun anyway.

I also was able to get some salon hours in, practiced makeup on my mom, as well as waxed her legs and brows. It was nice to share what I'm learning with my mom, even though she was astonished that I "really found this any fun".

So we're back. Tree is up, round one of presents put away. Laundry underway, dishes done, and we even got to go out to dinner last night because no one felt like cooking.

Life is good.

Now the fun begins: last eight weeks of school, part time job through new year's, and crap weather with sick kids (and mommy).

Wish us luck.

"officially out of money"

2005-11-14T06:54:00.000-05:00

Now, I'm not sure exactly what this means, but it's what my husband told me last week that we are...out of money.

Now this may be the case for half of America. Debt, credit cards, etc. We have been very fortunate to have made it this far without it. We're VERY good savers...watch where our money goes, buy what we can afford (please ignore my post about my Coach purse purchase this summer), and don't go out very often. I even cut up my frigging credit cards three months ago...it's KILLING ME, I tell you!

How does one just run out of money??

Well, between school fees (me and girlchild's totals were more than 10K) and the newfound hell of Daycare costs (600 bucks out the window every month), and no more money coming in...I guess we're in the red.

So I've taken a part time job. Waiting tables at a dinner theater forty five minutes from home. One that will take me away from my beloved kids and hubby another 18-24 hours a week. Add sleep and dinner to the hours in the week, and I get to be with them a whole two hours a day. If I'm lucky. Plus Sundays.

This blows.

I really didn't post this to be all "pity me". It's a rant...it will be done by next spring: I'll finally be working, the kids will be in daycare less often, and my husband's stress level will finally return to normal (just a shade under "11"). But until then, it's a good thing I already bought Christmas presents.

On a lighter note, it appears that the Repubs in power right now are finally being exposed for being lying bastards. And that does make me smile. :)

Superficial friends suck

2005-11-06T18:28:00.000-05:00

We had a halloween party last night. Sent the evite a month ago, and got a decent response. Expecting upwards of thirty people, I was looking forward to night of right debauchery (these being theatre folks, and all). I cleaned the house, made lots of cool treats, got up in my costume (Buffy, of course), and got ready to party. Took the kids to the neighbors' house for a sleepover, hung pretty lights on the deck, bought shitloads of beer.

Seven comes and goes. Jer, Ash and I sat and watched the entirety of Nightmare on Elm Street. Eight o'clock comes and goes. I begin drinking heavily, feeling that perhaps I have no friends. I check the evite, afraid I may have put the wrong date down. I get three phone calls, all from friends halfway across the country. If they were in town, they'd have been on time, dammit. One person called to say she couldn't make the party because she'd been puking. I'm sad, because she was someone I was really looking forward to seeing, but appreciate the call nonetheless.

First couple shows at 8:15. No costumes, but at least we have some friends. Then the next couple arrives. And the next. A few more awesome people arrive, about half in costume. But then, it stops. 12 people came to our party.

Now, there are about 8 people I saw just the weekend before, who raved they couldn't wait to see us, they love us so much, blah blah blah. Didn't come, didn't call.

I am embarassed. Partially because the people who came expecting a raucous shindig had to settle for a lame, sit around and talk and don't try and talk about the fact that more than half of our RSVPs stiffed us, and partially because I am being a crappy hostess, depressed and crabby, taking for granted the people who DID show up and wanted to spend the evening with us.

I don't want to approach the twenty people on the evite who viewed the invite and never responded. At all. Not even a "screw you, I have better plans". I even offered the option of "maybe" on the evite. Fuckers.

So there you have it. I spent my weekend in Martyrville, upset that 85% of my best friends live a day or more's drive away, upset that I had wasted perfectly good babysitting for a quiet evening that they very well would have slept through peacefully upstairs, and upset that all these great "friends" I have aren't really very good friends at all. And they are tacky to boot.

It's been a really rough couple of weeks. Stressed at school, stressed at home, and now this. It's time to purge toxic friends once more, and get back to what (and who) really matters.

So thank you, my dear friends who came. Thank you for propping me up and having a good time despite the lameness of my party. Fuck you my superficial friends who didn't bother with even an email to say why you shit on my parade.

my first brazillian

2005-11-03T19:12:00.000-05:00

Not on the receiving end, mind you. But I gave my first full wax job today. It took like an hour and a half total, because I kept having to stop and breathe, and give the poor girl a chance to rest. It went fine, and looked good, if I do say so myself. But when it was over, the girl and I came out of the wax room with hair askew, sweating, and even panting a little bit. I needed a stiff drink or a smoke.

Oh, and Jill? Doesn't deserve to be in school. Not a little bitty bit. She was busted for cheating...AGAIN...and was given no more than a slap on the wrist. An essay on "why cheating is bad" or some such bullshit. I don't understand...in college, that shit would get you expelled. I mean, she is lying about procedures she's doing in order to get more credits, she blantantly copies all her work in class, and has cheated now on more than one test. And yet she stays. And keeps the Springer-esque drama alive.

Yesterday we got to hear stories of her first "baby daddy", who beat the shit out of her when she was pregnant. And how she started stripping. And drugging. Now a month ago, I felt sorry for her. I even thought that she was to be commended, for getting out of the life and doing something better for her and her kids. That was before she was busted cheating. The FIRST time.

Now I'm just pissed that she's able to stay, when I am busting my ass honestly. You wanna be a screw up? Do it on your own time. I paid eight grand of money I really don't have, and I don't have time to sit and listen to you ask the same question ten times in a row. I'm here to actually learn, not pass the time.

At our school, you get to retake your tests until you pass at 85%, so Jill's test result sheet looks close to mine and everyone else's. Looks good for a school to say they have a 100% pass rate at or above a B. They don't tell you they don't average your retakes. Of course, I have a 98% passing rate from the FIRST time I took each test. She's on retake number three for some chapters. And I'm not a braniac...this isn't rocket science, people, it's beauty school. Beauty. School. Fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down, this one.

But midterms are in two weeks. And there are no retakes.

Muahahahahaha.

Happy Halloween!!

2005-10-29T12:22:00.000-05:00

A Great Weekend

2005-10-23T18:35:00.000-05:00

My best friend was here all weekend. My best friend who has had the shittiest couple of months a woman can go through. We hung out, watched movies, played with the kids, shopped, and I waxed her brows. ;)

My husband got some well-needed alone time out with friends this weekend.

I visited more salons and got a really good focus for the next month (namely, resumes should be going out before Thanksgiving).

On Friday, I had four appointments. Two were friends, two were new clients. But I got ten bucks in tips, rebooked two appointments, and was asked all kinds of questions, like I was the expert or something. I LOVE that!

Also? I found out that this is coming out next month. With about half of the original Broadway cast, which means it might actually be good. Rent *and* Harry Potter in one month? I better line up the babysitters NOW.

The Brazilian

2005-10-19T19:16:00.000-05:00

No, it's not another dance instructor.

It's a wax job. A "make it all bare" wax job. It's not something we do at the school on clients, but we are free to do it to each other, so we get some experience at it before getting a job, where apparently waxing coochie is big business.

So we finally had a girl "take one for the team" and go nekkid for the bare-all waxing. Brave, brave girl. I have to say I was cringing, and jumping just a little bit every time they pulled a strip. Um, so was she. I was at the second wax table doing someone's brows and trying *reely* hard not to stare. I mean, who can't look when you hear "ok, take this paper towel and cover up all that female stuff...now move it over here, hold right here and pull taught". I mean, really. Trying to avert eyes was the hardest thing to do. I mean, she was attempting to hold on to some sort of dignity whilst doing contortions, exposing areas that only her husband was meant to see. Hell, *I* don't even get that good a look at my own junk when shaving in the tub. And here this brave girl was exposing it all for the good of her craft.

I am not going to be that dumb...er, brave.

I also learned today that more than half of my class shave their nethers completely bald on a regular basis. I mean, they are EIGHTEEN. At eighteen, I was praying for anything to make me look like a woman...breasts, for instance, would have been nice. The last thing I wanted to do was make my self look like pedo-fodder. Now, if you are reading and happen to be one of those bald babes, I am not here to judge. I just don't understand it. I tried to do that once or twice for a bit of sumpin-sumpin in the bedroom. All I got was an itchy, rashy, burning mess for the five days following one day of perfect smoothness. Hamburger, people. It wasn't pretty. From then on, we stay nice and neat and trimmed...I am not all about being a bushwoman, but I gotta say, bare is not my calling.

Plus, I got a glance at the final product today. She looked like a freshly plucked chicken.

No thank you.

Scratch that.

2005-10-13T07:17:00.000-05:00

Jill is back. She took the whole week off. Weird. I took one day off and felt a bit guilty.

I'm not sure what the cause for the entire week was, but she was telling a few of the other young'uns about her husband's court date, which was scheduled on their son's birthday in January, and how that pissed her off. Not that he had to go to court, but because those "fuckers down there can't schedule for shit".

Dear lord.

On my own front, things are great. School is awesome. I finally got the hang of waxing as pain free as possible (many apologies to my good friend Ashley for being my first waxing client...come see me again...I'm better now, I promise). I have left 27 messages at spas and salons, asking for an information-gathering interview (also known as: if I interview you and you like me, perhaps you'll like me enough to give me a job in three months). I visited my first one last night, a chi-chi place downtown on the circle. The esthetician I interviewed was GORGEOUS. Like, model gorgeous. I don't think I can work with her, because I hate her just a little bit.

But she was very nice, and regaled me with stories of her first brazilian wax: the woman asked her to do the back, and she thought that meant her lower back (which apparently can grow some serious hair on some women). So she turns to dip the stick in the wax and comes back to a woman on all fours in front of her, ass in the air. In her FACE. Um, hello, butthole, nice to um, see you so close. Here, let me cover you with wax and rip it off.

Whatever. She made more than sixty bucks from it. I'm not above waxing a few asses for some cash. I'm a waxing whore.

The end of Jill?

2005-10-08T21:28:00.000-05:00

Jill was absent every day this week. Supposedly the sick kid again, but I'm thinking it's the fact that she has a 16% overall average score on her tests.

Partying like Rock Stars

2005-10-03T21:13:00.000-05:00

That's what my friends and I were doing this weekend. And I'm still a bit hungover, tell true...

Spent two nights in San Antonio Texas with some of my favorite women in the world...some of whom you can click on right down there on the right and read all about their fantastic selves.

I met these women online over the last 8 years, and let me tell you...these mommas know how to shake their stuff!

I really can't share too much (It's sort of a "what happens in SA stays in SA" kinda thing), but I will tell you this much:

There was drinking. Lots of drinking.
There was dancing ON THE BAR at Coyote Ugly.
There was more drinking, but these beers were free, compliments of boys who liked the dancing.
There was an Alamo there somewhere, but I only had time to drive past it...too much to be drank.
They eat a lot of Mexican food in San Antonio. And I heard somewhere that they may even serve some margaritas with that food. But I can't quite remember...
I also kissed a few girls and a cowboy.

My sweet dear husband's response to all of this?

Laugh, shake head, and say "that's my girl".

Oh, and did I mention there was drinking?

The rest of life

2005-09-24T16:46:00.000-05:00

Is really hard. School is great. I'm learning a ton, and finding out that I am pretty damn well off in the brains department.

What I'm finding difficult is balancing everything else. I mean, I used to work full time with a baby, and still managed to get everything done in time to have an hour for my husband each evening, even if that hour was spent watching Survivor.

Now I find that everything gets gypped: computer time, housework, meal preparation (South Beach Diet? What is this of which you speak?), quality child time, quality husband time, personal time...baths...

I am spinning each morning, trying to get everyone out of the house with backpacks, lunches, jackets, pacifiers, checks for daycare, checks for afterschool programs, picture money, library books, homework, coffee, nametag on uniform...well, you get the picture. It's getting so frazzled, I actually locked myself and the children out of the house one morning last week. Had my coffee and homework, had no car/house keys.

Oh, and my uniform? Is WHITE. Which is great for work...it can be bleached clean. But not so hot for trying to get to work in the fast lane drinking my coffee. Or for sticky baby hands that want to maul you when you walk in the door.

So I've taken to making tons of checklists. And laying everything out the night before. And fixing lunches, eating breakfast, and packing backpacks in my underwear.

Owie Chowie

2005-09-19T18:20:00.000-05:00

Today we waxed. And waxed. And waxed.

My brows, my upper lip and my armpits are bare as a baby's bottom. How supermodels and porn stars do this shit all the time is beyond me. But I'll be virtually hairfree for two weeks, so it was definitely worth it.

Later this week we do legs. And arms. Not that I ever thought my arms *needed* waxing, but hey...it's for credit, so rip it out, baby!

Oh, and Jill was out today. I thought perhaps last week just fried what might be left of her brain and she dropped out. Alas, sick kid. But she missed the waxing videos and demos.

I'll be damned if I'm letting her try it out on *me*.

Now why didn't I think of that?

2005-09-18T16:54:00.000-05:00

This week we are starting skin ananlysis: skin types, skin conditions, contraindications for facial massage/products, etc. There was a whole section on skin medications, and which can keep you from performing a facial on a client.

Apparently there is a whole group of drugs made for acne (Accutane being the best known) that actually thin your skin something fierce. They make you shed more skin cells. In fact, they are being monitored closely by the FDA, since taking Accutane in too large a dose makes your ORGANS actually shed cells. Freaky.

Most of us are horrified at that thought, and make a note that if someone is on Accutane, we don't want to do anything to exfoliate or make them lose more facial skin than they already are.

Jill's question?

"So does that stuff make you lose weight then?"

This blog's about to get busy

2005-09-14T18:47:00.000-05:00

Because I fully expect to have many stories to share about school.

First of all, I LOVE IT. LOVE LOVE LOVE it. We just jumped right in and actually began giving facial massages today on real people. We face the public in less than two weeks. Much to learn in a little time, and then I am going to be trusted to rip hairs from total strangers.

Beauty school? Ain't nothing like college, friends. I am going to be a total snob and say there's a reason why you only need a 10th grade education and a GED to attend. I'm one of two people in the class over 25. Most are 18-20. Really a bunch of sweethearts, most of them. But a few? Not the sharpest knives in the drawer, friends. Especially one, let's call her "Holy Shit if you ask one more stupid question that the teacher just answered five seconds ago, but you would know if you'd had your head out of ass, I am going to poke my eye out with this comedone extractor"...or Jill, for short.

Jill actually looks like she's stoned. She acts like she's stoned. She drops her stuff, rummages in her bag, gets up at inappropriate times and knocks people's books down while walking through the room.

Apparently Jill doesn't abide by the adage "there are no stupid questions", because she asks the DUMBEST questions. Seriously. Think "so, are they gonna pay us to do a facial and how much money do we get" questions. Um, dumbass...it's a beauty school. They pay the school, not you, moron. And if I were you, I'd not be looking for a big tip, either.

Today we were discussing contraindications for treatments: obvious rashes, heart conditions, visible sores, etc. Basic stuff. She begins her stupid-diatribe with "can't I just send them to the manicurist if they want a foot treatment and have dirty feet" and moved on to "do I have to do a bikini wax if someone has herpes"? Short answer: yes...because you wear gloves, and if you don't see it, who cares, you're safe. Also...it's your FUCKING JOB. But that really wasn't enough. We had a TEN minute discussion about herpes, transferrence of herpes, how gross they are, how her sister got them from giving a blowjob, etc...TEN MINUTES. Finally I just asked the teacher "um, is this on the test tomorrow"? To which she looked relieved to have an out, said "NO", and we got to move on.

But this chick...seriously, I will start documenting. And reporting.

But other than Jill, the class is great. The teacher, Miss M, is about as big as a minute and newly pregnant, so she excuses herself to either eat a snack or pee every hour. Homework consists of ONE chapter and the cooresponding workbook page. Where the young'uns kvetch and moan and freak, I'm like: dude, it beats the hell out of five chapters of Chekov's "The Cherry Orchard" and a five page essay to go along with it. Typed, double spaced.

My essay due Friday? "Why I want to be an esthetician". It's okay if I write it by hand on notebook paper. With the little spiral edgies torn and hanging.

Dude, I love school.

...my lunch packed up...my shoes tied tight...

2005-09-10T14:01:00.000-05:00

Yep, back to school. That's me. After about 7 years of wondering what it would be like to pick zits and get paid, I get to find out, starting Monday.

See, I'm a "picker" from way back. I distinctly remember in the seventh grade, sitting next to a girl with a big yellow headed zit on her nose. She just kept talking to me, acting as if nothing was awry. All the while I'm nodding and smiling, I'm thinking "My God, woman! Do you not FEEL that humungous zit on your schnoz? I mean, it's like a red ringed sun, right there on your face! Two seconds and I can totally get rid of it for you."

On my own face? I can never leave it alone. I am the one that loves a great overhead light in a friend's bathroom, just because I can sneak up close to the mirror after I flush and wash my hands and squeeze just that ONE IRRITATING PIMPLE that keeps taunting me. And god help me if I find a magnifying mirror. It's all over and they may as well think I fell in...because I'm not coming out for ten minutes.

People with mild obsessiveness over things like this do one of two things: become accountants or estheticians. I never got better than a C in math, so I'm going for esthetician.

Not only do I get to give facials and make people happy all day long, but I get to pop millions of offending zits, making cleaner faces and happier people.

Then? I get to be trained in waxing. As a firm believer that eyebrows make or break the face, I get to give people beautiful arches and banish all the unwanted stubble. Clean your stubble, clean your life, man. It's a purge. Tell me you don't feel you've lost a layer of filth when you shave? I get to offer that to people. And they will PAY me to do it.

So Monday it begins. I'm going to Beauty School. Ask my mom how happy she is for me, after blowing about $100K on a nice fancy bachelor's degree. I was able to allay her fears by telling her I would someday put it to use again...when I own my own high priced and hoity toity salon.

Everyone else says it better than I can, but this? Comes awful close.

2005-09-08T20:09:00.000-05:00

Worst Mom moment ever.

2005-09-06T10:39:00.000-05:00

My son grabbed my curling iron off the counter. Full on hand grab...hot ass iron....it's bad news. Have you ever seen the scream of no sound? Yeah, that. We saw that, then it was followed by an hour of ungodly screaming.

Ice, neosporin, bandaids, ice water bowl in the bathtub, and lots of "don't touch it honey" later, and we're okay today.

But Friday was BAD.

And I feel like a shit mom. Of course, it's not technically my fault. The baby just got fricking tall over the last few weeks or something. And I need to put that shit to the back of the counters, apparently.

This weekend? We bolt all drawers, especially those with knives. :/

Possibly the best carrot cake you'll ever have

2005-09-03T09:13:00.000-05:00

And I made it last weekend for my friend's birthday party. Make it, I promise you'll like it.

1 package spice cake mix
1 3.4 oz. butterscotch instant pudding mix
3/4 C orange juice
1/2 C vegetable oil
4 large eggs
3 C. grated carrots (about 5 medium)
1/2 C. raisins
1/2 C. chopped walnuts or pecans

Mix it all together and bake it at 350 for30-35 minutes for two 9" round pans. (Greased and floured, or lined with parchment paper).

Assemble cake in layers with some cream cheese frosting (I cheated and used canned).

Top with more nuts if you like, or just hack into it and eat a big fat piece, like I did. :)

ENOUGH with the ribbon magnets!!

2005-08-29T08:39:00.000-05:00

What EXACTLY is this ribbon supposed to be supporting? I mean, people, really. I saw it yesterday driving down the highway, and actually slowed down, pulled behind the guy to get a closer look at what I was seeing:

Being far from your best friends SUCK

2005-08-26T17:37:00.000-05:00

I have a best friend. More of a soulmate, really. She moved away a few years ago for a killer job. She went from being across the hall, to my roommate, to owning a house in the same damn neighborhood, and now she's five hours from me.

She's going through some REALLY tough shit right now. It SUCKS that all I can do is sit on the phone and sob with her, when what I really want to do is buy her beer and chocolate and sit down and get Shitfaced Drunk with her. Anything to take her pain away. But I can't. I'm sorry, babe. I love you.

My other BFF just moved back home to go to law school. She's having the time of her life, but I wake up every other morning expecting to call her and say "get over here and drink your coffee, chick". But she's busy and happy. And for that I'm glad.

But now I can't even sit with one friend while moping about the other friend.

So I mope to the blog. And to you. Deal.

So I'm trying to watch Oprah

2005-08-23T16:27:00.000-05:00

But I have to turn the channel. Poor Poor Priscilla. You used to be so lovely. Now you look like the Joker. For God's sake, STOP having plastic surgery, or you'll look like your ex-son-in-law.

What do you think?

About Four Days

2005-08-19T07:48:00.000-05:00

That is the answer to the question in my previous entry. Girlchild DID NOT want to go to school today. Mostly because she was dead ass tired.

We went to the state fair last night and got home way past bedtime for both children. But the fair makes it so worth it. This is a spectacle not to be missed if you live in central Indiana. It has gone by many names in our house, but we mostly like to call it White Expo. It's a festival of fried foods, stinky animal barns, carnies and mullets. You gotta go, mostly to people watch. The funnel cakes aren't half bad, either. Or the Dole Whips, or the fried cheese...I didn't go for the fried confection of the year, the Deep Fried Moon Pie, because I don't touch those things even not dipped in batter and hot oil. Besides, you'd be hard pressed to beat the fried oreos of last year.

This year, we had a bonus freak sighting: The CLAYMATES. Now don't get me wrong, I was a NKOTB fanatic and wore my share of Jordan Tshirts, but this group takes the cake. I saw many of your usual preteen fans, but TONS of middle age women, grown men, and even old ladies jonesing for His Gay...ahem...Clayness.

I'm not going to be a hater: I like the boy. He can sing. He should have won that season of AI. He'd do better in Rent (the role of Mark was MADE for this boy), but if a life of cover tunes and pretending to like girls suits him and makes him some bank, who am I to judge, right?

But these FANS. Holy cats. A forty year old with her preteen wearing a Tshirt that said "Clay is my future son-in-law". A fifty five year old man wearing one that said "I support my wife's OCD...I LOVE Clay, too!" There were photos of fanclub reunions being taken everywhere, and crowds around the backstage ropes, trying to get a glipse of Opie himself.

I had a good laugh, remembered the good old days of stalking the New Kids to their hotel room in South Bend, Indiana, and moved on. But it took everything I had not to go up to the Claymates in Love and say "you do know he's GAY, right?"

With two tired children in tow, sucking on a Dole Whip, my arm around my husband, walking to the car, I hear screams over the night as Clay began his rendition of...oh it even pains me to say it..."Mandy".

And it hit me: Clay Aiken *is* the Barry Manilow of this generation. Minus the bathhouses.

Highlights of her first big day

2005-08-17T08:00:00.000-05:00

"I cried a bit on the bus, because I missed you and Daddy. But quietly, so none of the other kids wouldn't see."

"The bestis part of the day was that I made some friends to hang out with."

"I got to eat lunch in the cafeteria, play outside TWICE, sing a song AND go to the library and check out a book today!"

"Mom, I think I LOVE my new school!!"

Ah, kindergarten. How long before they don't love school anymore?

Fishing for sympathy

2005-08-16T15:43:00.000-05:00

Today:

1. My daughter got on a big yellow schoolbus and went off to school. She looked so tiny, climbing the stairs with her big pink backpack and teeny navy blue jumper.

2. My son is on day two of Ten-Days-With-Grandmas-Detox. I am in charge of this, and let me tell you, it is NOT going well. I need earplugs and a margarita.

3. My husband cut up my credit cards.

Please, feel sorry for me.

Tat a tat tatt

2005-08-15T20:27:00.000-05:00

I want another tattoo.

Reeealy badly.

I got this cute one on my ankle several years ago (Japanese kanji for "woman") for my anniversary (Jer got the "man" one, together they say "husband and wife").

Cute, huh?

Now I want to do more.

I always said when I turned thirty I would do a tribal butterfly on my lower back. Now everyone has that. Plus when I was thirty I was three weeks from delivering WeeMan.

Now I have lost the weight and feel pretty confident there will be no stretching of the backside from now on. So what do I do? Be trite and get what I've always wanted, or wait for inspiration to do something not everyone is doing?

I also want to do more to my ankle. I'd love to add kanji for "actor" and "mother" to the "woman" on my ankle, but I can't design or draw for shit.

Any artists out there want to take a needle stab at it?

Unanswered Prayers

2005-08-08T08:57:00.000-05:00

It's a Garth Brooks song. One I always liked, but thought trite. Now, I know it's so so true. You can google the lyrics if you like, but the gist is that even if you pray and pray for something, just because God doesn't answer you, doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's doing. In the song's scenario, it was running into an old highschool flame, the one he'd prayed that would be his forever, until they sadly broke up. He didn't understand why God didn't listen, but when he ran into her ten years down the road, he'd realized how lucky he was with his family and wife, and that there was a reason God hadn't answered that prayer.

So, this weekend, we attended a friend's wedding and there, in the flesh was my high school love. The one I was going to marry. The one I was left standing in the dust when I met my now-husband. The heart I broke, and still occasionally wake up crying about, because he was a good man and deserved a good life. I was afraid I'd ruined his life. The woman he dated after me got knocked up and they were married within four months. I had nightmares of him coming to me, saying he was trapped and miserable and why did I leave him??

Well, the fantasy man that I hadn't seen in 12 years was just that: a fantasy. He looked old and tired and puffy. The 6'4" quarterback and basketball star I left in 1993 had turned into his father. A lump that only got up once the entire evening, to the bathroom. I managed to arrange a "bump into" there in the hall, and faked casualness. Extremely stilted smalltalk told me he built a house on his mom's property, was a guard at the state prison for the last ten years, and was still married, with two boys. They looked just like their mother. Pretty much everything that at age 18 scared me about staying with him. I wanted to go to college, to the big city, to perform. He wanted to stay in his mom's backyard, making babies.

And the mother? Sat there as well, scowling (more than likely because I was there, but I think she was just sour in general). She was wearing a striped men's oxford shirt over dockers. Not exactly formal wedding gear, but I can be a *leetle* judgemental, right? It helped I was wearing my little black dress and heels, right? Night and day, the choices we make. Very obvious that we were opposites.

Our very awkward conversation was cut short by his youngest coming out into the hall, screaming: "DAAAD! Mom wants to know what's taking you so long!!!"

And his mom thought I had him whipped.

I walked away from the wedding with a lot of closure and a few thoughts:

1. I chose the right man. We laughed and drank and danced the night away. Jeramy lookes better than he did when I met him at age 20, and looked HOT in his suit.

2. Jason is living what *I* would call a miserable life, but not to him. He's living my nightmare, but he seems okay with it. And for that I'm glad. I'd have been unhappy in that life. He is not. I hope.

3. Secretly my biggest fear was that when I finally did see him, this dream man from my past, that my heart would flutter and I would lose my senses and wonder if I screwed up. Turns out I wasn't REMOTELY attracted to him, nor would I even recognize him if I passed him in the street.

4. His mother is still a bitch and sat at the table all night whispering and shooting snide glances my way. My MIL is crazy, but thank god she's not THAT woman.

5. We all make our destiny, and even the most heartbreaking decisions and unanswered prayers have a place in that destiny. Next time I get angry because God isn't listening, or that I have to make a choice that kills me at the time, I will have to let go, and know that a higher plan is in place, and who am I to screw with destiny?