New Employee

One popular new plastic surgery technique is called lip grafting, or "fat recycling" wherein fat cells are removed from one part of your body that is too large, such as your buttocks, and injected into your lips; people will then be literally kissing ass. ~ Dave Barry

Thanks to the marvels of modern plastic surgery we have a new employee working at our school. I do not have a "before" picture, but as you can see I do have the "after" picture. So, it may seem as though I am ragging on plastic surgery, but I really don't care either way. I do have one suggestion, though. Make sure you have adequate time to heal before returning to work....especially if that work involves dealing with small children (and immature adults - yes, myself included). Coming to work with a make-up caked face in a poor attempt to cover horrible bruises is not wise. As a teacher, why have work done during Spring Break? Wait until summer so it won't be quite as obvious after the few months off. Personally, I had only seen the "work" from a distance because I know that I will end up laughing directly in the bruised, stretched tighter than a drum face staring blankly at me (since the botox has restricted normal movement). That was until this afternoon. I was alone in the workroom when "Michael" approached. There was no escape. Luckily she was wearing large, dark sunglasses so I couldn't get the full effect. She is a "space invader"....you know, one of those people who have no regard for a person's personal space. She was up in my face basically demanding to be looked at making really random small talk about how she didn't know I was good friends with Clementine (who was recently hired at school - and no, she is not the "new employee" to which I am referring). Duh! I'm not sure she knows my full name (and I don't mean the middle name). I escaped as quickly as I could, giggling to myself down the hall. I was bummed when I got back to my classroom only to find that Luscious was gone!!! She had gone home to ride her bike so she can lose 100 more pounds this week.

Sugar and Spice

A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for. ~ unknown

Watching a friend’s dreams come true is one of the greatest pleasures in life. Last year when Carolina got married, it was such a joy to be able to be part of her happiness. I spent most of the time I was there on the verge of tears….happy ones, of course. I couldn’t speak on her behalf at the rehearsal dinner because I knew I’d never get the first word out without turning into Blubbering Girl. Not a very nice nickname. Anyway, she knows that public speaking is not my forte and that my lack of spoken words in public was in no way due to a lack of emotion. She got a written note instead (imagine that). I never contemplated at the time that before another year had passed I would be shedding celebratory tears on her behalf once again. Today it was even more special: a message from Carolina stating that she had given birth to a healthy, gorgeous 7lb. 14 oz., 20 inch long baby girl. I was in exercise class when she called. I almost took the phone in with me, but figured that I’d be ok for the next hour. A mere 10 minutes into the class was when she called. When Daughter was born, I couldn’t imagine NOT having spoken with Carolina….I even called her early in the morning…before 8 o’clock…maybe even 7 (with her memory, she’ll know exactly). So now that the baby waiting is over, I will now wait impatiently until I can speak with her so we can mull over all the gory details as all mothers do. It’s a universal law that all who have given birth must forever speak of and rehash every detail to any other woman who will listen (and as women, we all listen to every birth story we can…they even make tv shows that we have all watched at one time or another to compare our stories to these strangers….aw’ c’mon…you know it’s true). Hmm…how long can I wait before I take a trip to Detroit to see The Baby?

Succumbing to Temptation

Pizza is a lot like sex. When it's good, it's really good. When it's bad, it's still pretty good. ~ unknown

How many vices can one give into in the course of the day? I am fried to a crisp, resembling the shell of a cooked lobster due to my need to be outside in the glorious weather (not to mention the exercise I craved hoping to lose an amazing amount of weight this week so I can stop eating 20 points each day!). I have eaten and drunk a veritable plethora of food and vanilla vodka leading to a semi-drunk state. Then there are the other vices to which I gave in (and will not mention). I have totally cancelled out any good behavior I did today by sitting here and SNARFING down half a pint of Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra. OH MY GOLLY WAS IT GOOD!

Stupid Fun

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Share the fun! While dozing in bed this morning listening to my favorite morning show, The Daily Buzz, I happened to rouse myself long enough to listen to a segment about places on the web. This one caught my attention. Visit it and you'll see why. It combines my affection for prank phone calls with my addiction to the computer. It is CareerBuilder Monk-e Mail. There you can select a chimp, dress it, accessorize it, select the background, and (THE BEST) select text for the monkey to say in a delightful email. Daughter and I had fun sending a monk-e mail to Girlfriend with a quote from Napoleon Dynamite: Tina, you fat lard, come get some DINNER!... Tina, eat. Food. Eat the FOOD! We selected that one because we put the chimp in a field of llamas. Totally stupid. Totally fun. Check your boxes, folks....you may be the recipient of some monk-e mail from moi! It may take a bit...it wouldn't let us send more than two at a time. That means that one of you diligent readers has some ma-il (you must user a sing-songy voice for that last word).

End in Sight

The road to success is dotted with many tempting parking places. ~ unknown

And damn if there haven't been an abundance of temptations THIS week. Between the 1 lb. gain last week and the friends in town, family in town, and two trips OUT of town, I have been horribly tempted and, at times, downright ill about turning down some of the temptations. The Cult has been a pain in my butt as of late. However, buying clothing 2-3 sizes smaller than I had been wearing has been quite fun! Double digits to single digits - whoo hoo! After harassment from the Cult leader via email, I finally succumbed and agreed to meet with her. The goal has officially been set. Five more pounds, 6 weeks of maintenance, and I will have earned a lifetime membership. Losing the weight is nice, but getting the free membership for life will be even better! I am a sucker for the promise of free stuff. The sad part is that it will probably take me at least 3-4 weeks to lose the last 5 lbs. What the hell was I thinking?

Ace in the Hole

Show me a good loser and I'll show you an idiot. ~ Leo Durocher

Ace....one word that personifies loser and idiot. Thank goodness for no more vomit-inducing, poor-attempt-at-looking-sexy gazes into the camera at the end of each performance. Thank goodness that I will no longer be tortured by his falsetto caterwauling causing me to think that he had been kicked squarely before taking the stage. Hmm...who should go next? Paris, Pickler or McPhee? I'll tune in next week to see who causes the bile to rise more and then make my call. The more I watch, the more I am inclined to lean towards Chris to win. Sorry to all my Taylor fans. Who am I missing? There are now 6 wanna-be's left. Oh, I think I just realized who I must subconsciously want "outta there" even before Paris, Pickler, or McPheever (ugh! that name they invented!).....it's Goat Boy: Elliott! This guy reminds me of the SNL Goat Boy character played by Jim Breuer. You check it out for yourself and then think about how right I am while you are giggling over the resemblance. Like Goat Boy, Elliott needs to be zapped with the prod and get off the show.

Inspirational

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten ~ Natasha Bedingfield

When listening to music I am often guilty of not listening to the lyrics until I am convinced that I like the actual music. Sometimes a song will be around for a bit before I completely get into the lyrics. Then I am frequently disappointed by what I hear….especially if it involves most of the “hip hoppish” music that is prevalent and that I secretly adore. Case in point, the Black Eyed Peas. I really like a lot of their tunes, but am not completely sold on their lyrics. They are perfect for dancing like a complete idiot in the private confines of my home with my children. Don’t Phunk With My Heart is quite catchy, but when Son sings it in front of people that don’t know the song, it sounds as though he is dropping the “f-bomb” and I guess, for general purposes, he basically IS since the lyricists have disguised the “f-bomb” with the word “phunk”. My Humps is another gem in which the chick singing the song brags about what she will be able to get by flaunting her “lovely lady lumps” that are in the “back and in the front”. Then, for those who can’t figure out what those are, they actually end up referencing these parts as “ass” and “breasts” in a series of questions sung by a man (Whatcha gonna do wit all that ass inside those jeans?) and then answers supplied by the woman (I’m gonna get you drunk…love drunk off my humps). As obnoxious as the words are, the tunes are addictive if you are into that sort of music. Hubby is not and is often tortured when one of these wildly wonderful songs comes on the XM since it will be cranked and the Mom and Kid dance party begins. All my better judgment about exposing my children to inappropriate music instantly evaporates when we can have Instant Dance Party. These songs are not the only source of deception. Even simple sounding love ballads may sound innocuous, but are merely wolves in sheep clothing. That sappy sounding Kelly Clarkson song about never straying far from the sidewalk sounds like a touching tribute thanking someone for keeping her safe. Listen more closely and it’s not quite the case: “Because of you I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me Because of you I am afraid” Just the type of song I want dedicated to me! “Thanks for all the mental abuse you heaped on me...yes, I am safe, but terrified to live and it’s all your fault.” I know, I have provided commentary about music many blogs ago, but I have actually found a song that I thought was quite inspirational. So inspirational, in fact, that I used the lyrics to open this entry. I love the choice of words like “drench” and “illuminate” along with the comparison of life to an empty book that is to be written daily. Wow, a side of me that normally doesn’t emerge in this forum….shocking, huh? Yay for this simple, yet motivating song. I am now going to detach myself from this beast (the computer) and go write my book for today. It is the perfect day for writing….sunny, warm, and absolutely gorgeous. I will open up my dirty windows (literally) and let the sun illuminate my world. The beach will be visited in some way today!

The Rollercoaster

The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grown up under the same roof. ~ Richard Bach

I have just arrived home after spending a fabulous day with my dad, More-Than-a-Stepmom, her daughter, her daughter's fiance, and his daughter. Just as last year, we spent time letting the girls play and hanging out in the sunshine on the beach. Son ended up soaked from the neck down, providing the excuse: I was just water walking. It looked more like water jumping to me, but there hits a point of exasperation when I just have to resign myself to the fact that it's not worth the effort to even utter another command and to just let the events play themselves out. Today was such a day. After our day together, we got together for dinner. Another delicious meal. I know that any time I visit Dad's I am going to completely adore everything that I consume. Today I was spoiled by two meals that the cult would not approve....but boy were they worth it! Anyway, I am rambling so I will get to the heart of this. Last year we had a similar get together. Last year left me dealing with an unexpected emotional outburst known only to Hubby. I did not share my feelings anywhere else because I was so confused and felt horrible that I was even experiencing such emotions. It's hard to even discuss them now, but I feel the need to revisit them and contrast them with the way I feel tonight. Last year I didn't make it out of Dad's housing development before bursting into tears. I had had such a wonderful evening, but as the night unfolded (and the more alcohol I consumed - maybe not such a smart move...but I did not anticipate the emotions to come) and the children filled the house with laughter that we all enjoyed, I could not help feeling like Mom had been cheated out of hearing her home filled with the joyous noises of her grandchildren. It broke my heart even though I realistically knew that the evening would not have been possible unless the events that had led up to this point had not taken place. I love my step-family. My emotions on that night were not even remotely connected to them. They were driven by my own selfishness. For years before Mom died I prayed for Dad's happiness each night. My prayers were answered; he, in my opinion, is happier than ever. He has always deserved the happiness he now has. Confused? I know I was....and most of you do not know the details concerning life before Mom passed away. I do not wish to get into that tonight. Instead, I am using this blog as a forum to mull over the stark emotional contrast I am feeling this year. When I arrived home tonight, it suddenly hit me that there was no emotional battle raging within me. The kids had still had fun. Daughter is even spending the night with her "cousin by marriage" as the girls put it. We laughed and created new memories. I had some drinks (which is probably more apparent now). All of the same characters were present (except for Brother who is out of town). It has been said that time heals all wounds. I don't see the wound left by my mother's death ever completely healing, but maybe...just maybe....the wound won't always be so raw and painful....at least not all the time. I do remember a time where it hurt every day just to exist. Then it intertwined with numbness. Gradually, life resumed....but it was forever altered. Sometimes that same initial anguish can return in the blink of an eye with the same magnitude with absolutely no warning. The emotion is strong, but not as long-lived. Nonetheless, my whole point here is that I am amazed by the contrast in emotions. I am perplexed, but am thankful for the ability to experience this day without the bonus of emotional trauma (ok...maybe trauma is a harsh word, but it adds to the impact of the entry, don't you think?). OK, I know, enough of the "Deep Thoughts" for this night. I have neither solved the problems of the world nor even come close to figuring out the craziness that takes place within the confines of my skull. Oh, well. At least I have settled my brain for now by expressing my thoughts, as random as they are, in words.

Get Me a Swiffer

Art washes from the soul the dust of everyday life. -- Pablo Picasso

If this is the case, then hose me down with a vat of Endust 'cause this chick is the antonym of artistic! Ethel's gallery had a grand opening yesterday. Meaning to get there at five, I ended up arriving at least an hour late. Why? A variety of reasons. Nonetheless, I arrived fashionably late (not referring to my attire, however) and perused the many examples of art that she has displayed - her own personal work in the form of beaded jewelry and breathtaking photos - along with the art of other artists that she displays and sells. Our friends from Raleigh, Hippie and Hippie's Chick, were among the artists present. It was absolutely wonderful visiting with them...even though we keep abreast of each others lives through our blogs, we had not seen them since Carolina's wedding one year ago. Hippie's Chick has created these wire hangings that are wonderfully imaginative: copper wire twisted in intricate curls and adorned with large glass marbles (sorry if I have failed to describe them well). She simply calls them Wire Things. They are quite nifty. Jazzy, another friend, has artwork being retailed in the gallery. She has created a colorful variety of scarves. At first I was a bit taken aback because she has claimed to have no artistic talent. Quite the contrary. Not present in the gallery is any offering from me. Why? Because this chick is not capable of creating anything beyond crap cut out of construction paper and affixed to something else with glue. The true antithesis of artist is sitting here typing pathetically about the injustice of being a non-artist. Some tend to think I have a knack for writing....oh, yes, my sarcastic rantings are just the kind of art one wants to purchase....I don't think the gallery is the proper arena for my product. (Get ready for the drama) Oh, the self-loathing! I sense that my "dark years" are just beginning. I shall hide away in a remote crevice until I can discover an artistic talent worthy of notoriety.
Yes, Ethel and Jazzy, this was composed for you. And yes, I am smiling, dammit!

sidenote: I apologize to those of you reading that have absolutely no idea what this crap is all about. :0)

Calling All Inventors

To invent, you need a good imagination and a pile of junk. ~ Thomas Alva Edison

A friend of mine recently blogged about the beauty and splendor of Spring in our community. Yet another eloquently blogged about the gorgeous array of blossoms blooming in her yard thanks to the former owner who lovingly planted a variety of plants throughout the property. I, however, know that it is Spring in the South because it is that time of year when the county announces that it will collect non-traditional trash items. There is nothing that adds to the exquisiteness of our island in the Spring than the mounds of trash that are now piled up on the side of the road. Old lawn mowers, discarded furniture, antiquated appliances….you name it, it’s there. Considering the fact that there are always such mounds following a storm, I wonder from where it all comes. Is it reproducing back in the woods? Does erosion suddenly occur causing these relics to appear? Is there some malevolent force at work beyond the view from the road? At first, the mounds were almost unnoticeable. Gradually, the mounds have been increasing. This morning Daughter and I spotted an old mangled car and the pièce de résistance: a dilapidated travel trailer large enough for a family camping trip. I am giddy with excitement thinking about how these monstrosities will evolve over the course of the next few days. Spring….gotta love it.

Perfected to an Art Form

Hi. I’m looking for a man first name Hugh last name Jass. [Moe: ok has anyone seen a Hugh Jass? Hello, I’m looking for a Hugh Jass!] ~ Bart Simpson

I don’t know why, but ever since a birthday party I had in middle school, I have been in love with the art of prank phone calls. I was in 6th or 7^th grade and we spent an entire evening taking turns calling people with completely ignorant phrases. The laughter that ensued was the kind of laughter that comes from the core of one’s soul…the contagious kind….the kind that just won’t stop. For me, laughter like that is one of the best things in the world. I adore laughing and try desperately to laugh like that daily. It’s what gets me through life. One way I achieve such laughter is through prank phone calls. In college, there was the “May I speak to the Slug?” series to our Dookies (Carolina and Ethel will remember these fondly). In my early married life there was the visit from my brother and one of his college friends that involved calling one of those hair growth companies to inquire about the exact places it would make hair grow. Other calls of note were the series of calls Yo, L and I made during the kidnapping of Sponge Bob. Using the outside line at school to call the owner of Sponge Bob within the school was immense fun. Even though I know I am technically an adult, I still get a thrill from making these infantile phone calls. Last year I made a series of calls to S.C.(Slang Challenged)’s son. For several weeks I called him (she was an accomplice….I am not THAT deranged) pretending to be the woman who ended up with their lost cell phone (LONG story). Basically, S.C. got a new phone with the same number without telling the rest of her family. So, when I called saying that my boyfriend had given me the phone for Valentine’s Day and asked why the son’s number was programmed into my phone, it really caught them off guard. My accomplices (SC & Luscious) and I came extremely close to wet-your-pants laughter during this series of calls. SC would call her son from the school to make sure he was answering and then I would call from the cell. The things we do to let off some steam after teaching all day! We were ROLLING the day he actually yelled, “Who the F*** is this?!” into the phone. These shenanigans went on for a month or better….ending with revelation on April Fools Day. We even had her husband fooled. Priceless. One of my favorites was the one I made to a colleague at school leaving a voicemail pretending to be a white trash parent and threatening to come down to the “schoolhouse” and “open up a can of whoop-ass” on her for giving out her phone number causing drug dealers to call her begging for her medicine. We had the colleague going until I messed up and somehow didn’t hang up the cell phone properly. The wild laughter that Luscious and I created gave us away. The colleague let us listen to it and I must say (until the laughter), I was rather convincing. This phone call began a tradition that Luscious and I continue to this day. We are co-chairs of the annual science festival at our school. One of our responsibilities is to purchase all of the consumables for the event. This involves a trip to Walmart after a day of teaching. Where we live, this is a big deal because the Walmart is at least an hour away. Needless to say, we are already exhausted and basically get “slap happy”. We shop, eat out, sometimes have a drink, and always return LATE. During the long trip home, we devise prank voicemails to leave coworkers so they’ll have a nifty surprise on Monday morning. Last year we called the school finance officer and told her that Walmart confiscated the school credit card. I know there were others…oh, yeah, we called our assistants and said that we had ridden by Talon’s house and she came out and threw rocks at us. I can’t remember any others right now. Last night’s excursion was no exception. We made a total of four phone calls. This year’s were not my best work….probably because we didn’t have drinks this year (damn those points!). However, we still laughed and hopefully the recipients will enjoy a little humor on the Monday before Spring Break. Sorry, no details on these calls as the pranks have not been received, yet. Heh heh heh!

I Can't Believe I Ate the Whole Thing!

Observations of overstressed rats may help explain why dieters so often fail and binge-eat instead. A combination of stress, deprivation and exposure to tempting food pushed the rats to overeat, according to two studies in the October issue of Behavioral Neuroscience. ~ Robert Preidt

I guess I am no better than a rat. My weekly ritual of binge eating following the Cult meeting has hit a new level. On my way home I had to stop for some ground turkey for dinner. As I passed the dairy case, a voice called out to me. It was the Nestle bunny beckoning to me...."Buy the chocolate milkshake drink! You have dieted all week, lost some weight, and you deserve it!" Who can resist the Nestle bunny? The thick chocolaty drink was divine! By the time I arrived home I was experiencing a magnificent sugar high. Absolutely delightful! As I began to prepare dinner (a bounty of pasta and meat sauce) I heard a disturbance in my refrigerator. At first I didn't recognize the sound, so I meandered over to the fridge and opened the door. Just as I thought: the baseball-sized peanut butter Easter egg that Hubby had bought a week ago was calling to me. Well, fearing that the peanut butter egg might go bad, I decided I needed to personally check it out. I didn't want my family to suffer from my poor cleaning habits and eat something that was foul. Let me tell you....the fourth I ate was wonderfully delicious. So was the jalapeno cheese dip with the baked Ritz crackers. The mound of sauce-drenched pasta was excellent as was the cheesy Texas toast. I was afraid of that egg again, so I had to take one more taste. Still delicious! My stomach is now bloated and sore. I haven't binged like this in a LONG time. It was incredibly decadent and enjoyable while it lasted....now I am going to go wallow somewhere. I am all about the occasional binge, but not so much a fan of the purge. Tomorrow begins the new week of the obsessive point calculations for another 7 days...until my post-Cult-meeting binge for next week!

Hello, My Name Is Kristin...

It is not heroin or cocaine that makes one an addict, it is the need to escape from a harsh reality. ~ Shirley Chisholm

In addition to my blog-writing addiction, I have developed a new "escape from (my) harsh reality". I was first introduced to this new addiction on my trip to Vegas....ok, sounds MUCH worse than it actually is! In fact, when I reveal what this addiction is, it is probably going to make Ethel and I sound like complete and utter nerds. On one of our flights Ethel had a puzzle book filled with grids containing numbers. In each row the numbers 1-9 can only appear once. In each column the numbers 1-9 can only appear once. AND in each of the 9 sets of 9 small boxes, the numbers 1-9 can only appear once. Welcome to the world of Sudoku! I watched Ethel work these puzzles like a fiend...erasing and writing, erasing and writing, erasing and writing. I was interested, but not enough to break down and do one. I was content with the Mary Higgins Clark in which I was engrossed (no, not mentioning the title since I don't want to embarass myself by the fact that the book is probably old and was read by everyone else ages ago...two words: GRAD SCHOOL! hey, give me a break...I haven't mentioned it in a bit!!). When Hubby came home last week, he had a newspaper crossword that he'd been solving. I picked it up and happened to flip it over. Lo and behold: a Sudoku puzzle! I thought I'd give it a shot. Well, after writing and erasing, and erasing and writing to the point that I had worn a hole in the paper, I decided to check one out on the Internet. MISTAKE! I found this spectacular site with millions (literally!) of puzzles on a variety of levels (easy, medium, hard, and evil). I have the option of working these puzzles online (saving the erasers on my pencils) or printing them out. Not only have I spent time each day working one (or more) of these puzzles, I have also shown Daughter how to do them. She now works one a day as well. My "drug" of choice is the evil (pronounced E - vil). I must admit, though, that I do at times cheat by clicking on the "How am I doing?" button on the page. But hey, I am a neophyte....I'll work my way up to avoiding the EASY button like those office freaks on those ads...Staples, is it?

Random Fury

We are having EVER so much fun! ~ unknown

It is an absolutely beautiful day. The sun is amazingly bright. The temperature is perfect. However, I am in a mood so foul that I cannot even fathom enjoying one single shred of it. I awoke earlier than I had wanted. Was it me or was it due to Son's determination to wake up everyone? I don't know which came first...me waking by my own free will or me waking due to his evil actions. He cranked the volume on every TV, turned on every light, and slammed his door repeatedly. He wasn't even frightened by the Joan-Crawford-esque witch that demanded him to stop. Then Finley needed to go out. No problem. I took her out, she did her thing, we came back in. I watched some TV and then decided I needed to get the children ready for Sunday School. Daughter did not want to go and due to the time change I didn't push it. Due to my PMS, every untidy part of the house (and believe me there are many) was magnified to epic proportions. I unloaded the dishwasher, reloaded the dishwasher, wiped counter tops, put Hubby's clothes in the dryer, folded some other wash, argued with Son about what to wear to Sunday School, worked on spots that Finley made on the floor yesterday while I was at a meeting for my summer employment (of course these spots weren't touched yesterday - the best I can hope for around here is for a white towel to be placed and left on the spot until both the towel and carpet reek of urine reminding me of how Adam Sandler handles bodily fluids in Big Daddy but only replacing the newspaper with the white towel!). In the midst of my obsessive compulsive cleaning, the dog decides to pee on the floor again. Perhaps she thinks I like cleaning up after her and was doing a good thing for me. Oh, how I wished for a shock collar at that moment. When I took Son to church, he asked when the deer from Christmas were not going to be in the yard anymore. Good question. It is April! So, when I returned from church delivery, I destroyed the handy work of my husband and removed the fallen deer (the wind had blown them over some time ago...was this a tribute to deer season perhaps?). I mistakenly thought that I would not have had to do this, but.....ANYWAY! As the morning has worn on, the voices in my head - which sound just like my own voice - began to make lists of all sorts of atrocities that have been committed by others, undoubtedly in an attempt to enrage me. After cleaning the toilet and the vanity, putting away some laundry, commanding Daughter to put her clothing AWAY (which, by the way, does not mean dumping it in some unseen location...IT MEANS HANG IT OR PUT IT IN THE DRAWERS), and trying to decide what would be a good breakfast choice (and deciding that even though the PMS alter-ego really wanted that chocolate doughnut, it was not worth the CULT points - I have yet to eat since NOTHING compared with the thought of that stupid doughnut), I have finally come upstairs to vent my frustrations. Hubby came up while I was writing, read what I had written (and that was only when I had made the Joan Crawford reference), and informed me that he was getting the dog out of here for a bit. Was it the threat he overheard to get rid of her (as if he had to overhear as I was screaming at the dog)? Was it my rantings about how the dog had peed all over the carpet yesterday while I was out? Yes, I bought the dog. But it just kinda rubbed me the wrong way this morning when the rest of the free world (ie my family) was contentedly wallowing around while I suffered from the compulsion to clean the filth of our home. Again, my problem. I plead fury by reason of PMS insanity. Is my work done? NO. Do I want the doughnut? YES. Am I still furious? NOT SO MUCH. Is that last nerve still raw? YES. Could I easily be pushed back to my earlier state of rage? DEFINITELY. Oh....frabjous day! Since it isn't quite noon, perhaps I can salvage some part of this day. I still need to clean the yard, sort through Son's drawers to remove the clothes that are too small or too torn, put away my laundry, do more laundry, clean out my car, DOES ANYONE HAVE A VALIUM?!

Deja vu? Not Quite

Live for today....Plan for tomorrow...Party tonight! ~ unknown

Here's the situation: Hubby is out of town on boat business. Daughter is at Girlfriend's sleepover for the big 13th birthday celebration. Teacher Workday tomorrow (for me that means Hello, Weekend a day early!). That left Son and I available for social activity. After all the responsibilities of today (work, tutoring, preparation for & delivery to said birthday party, taking Son & Finley to Brother while I attended Step Class & Cult Weigh-In), I was torn between going home and having an uneventful night - unless gorging on large quantities of food after the weigh-in counts - or trying to find some way to misbehave. Basically, after the Cult, I was ready to go home. I didn't run into Ethel at the meeting so I called her to see how she had done. As it turned out, she had not gone to the meeting for various reasons, one of which being the fact that Fred was out of town. Fred & Hubby out of town at the same time? The Fates were speaking....a Girls' Night! Oh, the days of yore...drinking, laughter, ultimately - spillage of some bodily fluid. So....we weren't going out AND the kids (sans Daughter) would be around, but hey, it was worth a shot. Did I mention the dogs?! Yes, Vida & Finley would get a Girls' Night, too. I stopped by the house to pick up the remainder of the vanilla vodka from last weekend, change out of my exercise attire, and then headed straight to Ethel's. A definite departure from those old party nights. NEVER would I have even contemplated a night of festivities without a shower and make-up partnered with a well-thought-out outfit. Tonight: jeans, athletic socks (one with holes), and my UNC xxl sweatshirt. The epitome of hot, let me tell you. As soon as we arrived, my exhausted dog found new life playing with her sister. This went on for hours. Luckily we freely poured the vodka and DIET ginger ale (like I cared about calories while drinking in my previous life) so we laughed when we discovered the trail of urine that encircled the kitchen island. Didn't know dogs could walk and pee simultaneously. So, here was the expulsion of bodily fluid (or so I thought). The dogs played so hard that blood was shed. At first we thought Finley had bitten Vida's ear...we later came to the conclusion that it was from Finley's bleeding gums. Apparently she is losing her baby teeth (Daughter found one the other day) at an amazing rate. The one side of her mouth resembles the Bumble from the Rudolph story. Ethel and I laughed, gossiped, ate, and drank. The kids played until all but one had fallen asleep. Son was on my lap until I finally had to go to the bathroom. I placed him on the love seat so my Girls' Night could continue. Then we found The Blues Brothers on tv. HHMMM...just like one night at Kensington Trace when I tried to watch it but just had to sleep for some reason. While laughing about how we really didn't remember the parts we were watching, Son (who had been coughing on and off throughout the evening) sat up from his restful state and puked all over the blanket that had been covering him. Yay...more bodily fluid. A puking boy...definitely resembling old times, although Son's was not induced by large quantities of alcohol. He proceeded to puke all over the floor of Ethel's bathroom. I think one teaspoon of it ended up in the toilet. Yay. Ethel offered a change of clothes to Son, but, being the anal soul he is about his clothes, he refused to change. After cleaning up the puke, we promptly left, son clutched to me in his puke-splattered clothing....puke blanket and bag of pukey paper towels in hand (couldn't leave that mess in someone's house - unlike olden days where it was common practice to NOT clean up any mess that you or anyone else had made). Now I sit here in my quiet home still in my sweatshirt that most assuredly has puke-transfer all over it while Son is peacefully resting in his Zyrtek sleep and Finley is restful after her wild night. Did I mention the fact that Ethel and I saw her hump her sister?! Yikes! Sounds like the Duke lacrosse party (oooh, bad form). I guess in that respect our evening DID resemble parties of our youth...dogs engaging in sexual behavior in public. What was it Luscious said earlier when I told her that I had never been home alone overnight with only Son and I didn't know what I would do with myself after he went to sleep? Her one-word response: BLOG. I told her I wasn't inspired to write anything. Funny what a Girls' Night can produce. All in all, the same elements in an entirely different setting with a contrasting set of characters. The memories (or lack thereof in some cases) of those days are priceless, but I wouldn't trade my life now to relive that period in time. I couldn't imagine my life without Hubby and the Kids. I DO miss the proximity of my girlfriends. Carolina, my friend...not the institution, is SO far away ready to deliver her new bundle of joy and I SO want to be there (no, not in the delivery room!). BUT girlfriends like the ones with which I have been blessed are always close...they live in my memories and my heart. Now, as I get ready to hit Publish Post, I toast (figuratively, of course, as a good mommy I stopped the consumption when the vomit flew forth) my former and present lives and send hugs and love to all my girlfriends.

At the Mercy of Strangers

Taxi Rules:

1. Driver speaks no English.
2. Driver just got here two days ago from someplace like Segal.
3. Driver hates you. – unknown

There is nothing that compares to the feeling of being recklessly driven by a taxi driver. Ethel and I subjected ourselves to this as infrequently as possible during our adventure in Vegas. We felt we could justify eating whatever we felt like eating after walking mile after mile to our destinations. For instance, we treated ourselves to a fabulous Mexican lunch at the Venetian after walking extensively down “the strip” and throughout the shops that line the faux streets inside the luxury establishment while gazing up at the eternally blue sky painted upon the ceiling. Of course we couldn’t forgo an opportunity to sip on mojitos, either. Another case in point was the day that we HAD to have Asian food from P.F. Chang’s. We “just knew” we weren’t that far from it….we had passed it on the way to the Riviera on our mini-bus from the airport for goodness sake. Four and ½ miles later we finally reached our destination…hot, sweaty, and famished! Again, we rewarded ourselves with a delicious lunch of MuShu Chicken and another round of mojitos (Asian Pear flavored this time). Knowing that even though we had indulged and probably would benefit from more walking, we were unwilling to walk back to the Riviera. Shortly after being seated, we asked our waiter about getting a taxi at the conclusion of our meal. He said that the hostess would call or hail one. Guess what…this was complete junk! The hostess said it would take ½ an hour for her to call. COUGH – lazy and unwilling to help –COUGH! We could also walk across the street to a place called Terrible’s (the name speaks for itself) and get on the taxi line there. We didn’t find anyone at the valet stand so we went inside to see if we were missing something. Nothing but white trash gamblers in there. We exited. As we were strolling back to the valet area, we saw two fine-looking youth (bah, hah) walking around with open bottles (obviously not against the law in Vegas as we saw this a lot). Then, one of the upstanding individuals threw the empty bottle on the ground, shattering it. I was filled with such a feeling of contentment! I felt a bit more secure about being there when I realized that the whole place must be under heavy surveillance because as the two yutes (tee hee) approached the front door, they were immediately stopped because of the bottle incident. Ethel finally found the valet dude and was able to get him to go out into the traffic to hail a cab. While waiting, we observed two middle-aged men waiting in the area as well. We overheard them saying that they were going to the Riviera, too. Yay. I knew right then and there that we were somehow going to end up in a cab with them. The one guy was either really stupid or an incredible braggart because at one point he had a huge wad of cash visibly exposed for all to see….he even had a $100 bill on the outside. Duh! Even a small-town girl like myself knew this was the dumbest move ever! The lazy valet only ended up hailing one cab, knowing that we were going to the same place, forcing our premonition to become true. Thus began the first taxi ride of the trip. Tons of fun. Since Ethel had spoken to the valet (something she hates to do), I took the seat in the middle of the backseat, placing me next to one of the “high rollers”. The cabbie was interested in making chit chat. His driving skills weren’t too bad which was wonderful because it kept me from making any contact with “high roller”. As the passenger in the front seat was rambling on about himself I gazed straight out the front window. It was then that I saw it…the mini camera with the red light next to the word “REC”. OH MY GOSH! He was filming us! All I could think about was the times I had watched Taxicab Confessions on HBO with Luscious. EWE! I knew I wasn’t giving him anything worth broadcasting and the freaky men had better not have any ideas either!!! As the ride seemed to get longer and longer, seeming longer than the 4 + mile walk to Chang’s, it was suddenly my turn to face the questions of the driver. He wanted to know what I did for a living. Disappointing him by only being a teacher and not some kind of fiend that would find him any fortune with Confessions, he had to give his two cents about No Child Left Behind. Oh what a commentary! “Thinking is wrong!” BLAH BLAH BLAH! I was thankful for that ride to be over. However, I soon learned that this was one of the tame rides!

At this moment, I cannot remember many details about the driver from our second taxi extravaganza. It was on our last day and we had the taxi take us to New York, New York. We were a bit pressed for time so we knew that there was no time for walking. Actually, as I type, this ride’s details are coming back to me. I must have tried to repress the vulgarity of this moron. This guy took us “another way to avoid the traffic accident” (ie. He took us this way because we went ass-end around our elbow to get to our thumb which put more money in his pocket!) He also felt the need to tell us about how he often transports strippers and hookers and knows many of them quite well. I was so impressed with his display of self-importance. He told us that one cab patron had been shocked that he hadn’t seen hookers while in Vegas…he scoffed at the person saying that if he HADN’T seen a hooker he should get a dog and sunglasses. So politically correct! I must need these tools, too, since I didn’t see flocks of stereotypical hookers traveling around Vegas. Trucks with ads offering to bring these fine female specimens directly to the room of any takers – YES. Scantily dressed tramps with more make-up than Maybeline – NO. (Ethel and I did question the reputation of one woman one night in our elevator, but that was it!) Finding out we were from North Carolina, he told the lame jokes that North Carolinians normally use to talk about West Virginians. But, and this will make all of us from NC proud, the strippers always speak fondly of the rednecks from NC (who flock there for NASCAR) because they use big bills when sticking cash in the g-strings. “They may have octopus hands, but they tip well.” Brings a tear to my eye…..couldn’t be prouder. Having a low tolerance for bull, I contributed as little as possible to this conversation, leaving Ethel to carry on with this fool who was determined to speak endlessly. Sorry, Ethel. I just knew I’d deliver some unappreciated (by him at least) smart ass remark if I spoke. Imagine that! I marveled at Ethel’s ability to banter with this crass individual. Of course I picked on her later about one of the more so-anti-Ethel comments ever uttered! Prior to this, if presented with a list of comments that I never expected to hear come out of Ethel’s mouth, this one would rank near the top! As the driver spoke so lovingly about his stripper friends, easily conveying to us how difficult a job he thought they had, Ethel responded to him…agreeing with him…that stripping must be a really difficult job. I was waiting for her to jump up on a soapbox and rally for strippers’ rights! Unbelievable! In any other situation Ethel would almost vomit thinking about the stripping “profession” (the filth, the bodily fluids,etc.)…here she was lamenting about their poor working conditions with the cabbie!!! I am still amazed! It was a good thing that the ride was almost over at this point…he probably could have gotten her a spot on Confessions, although I don’t think there was a camera in this jalopy.

Our third taxi experience was the ride from New York, New York back to the Riviera. OK, now I know I have basically gotten the point across that I think random, senseless banter in a cab is enough to irritate me fully. But, having experienced the alternative, I think I prefer the mindless babble. We climbed into the taxi van, neglecting to put on our seatbelts. A move I will regret for eternity! As we readied for take-off (yes, we were being propelled by NASA), I happened to look at the driver’s info card near the glove compartment. Before I could even get to read his name, I noticed a pair of glasses tucked into the plastic designed to protect the name card. Super! A driver refusing to wear glasses. Getting past that shock, I glanced at his name. Foreign. Suddenly, my train of thought (worries) were interrupted by the whiplash-induced pain in my neck (embellishment) created by the 0 to 50 in .5 seconds propulsion forward followed by the 50 to 0 in .2 seconds deceleration to avoid complete wreckage at the speed bump. This continued multiple times as Commie Cabbie exited the parking area, crossing innumerable obstacles. Once we were out of the parking area of New York, New York, we were treated, free of charge, to the Dukes of Hazard driving simulator, better known as the illegal u-turn in the middle of the road. No, not at an intersection, right in the middle of the heavily-occupied street. Not being familiar with the roadways of Vegas, I cannot cite exactly which road we were on, but it was a four-lane road. This roadway also contained quite a few cars. As we sped forward, I was waiting to be sent back in time since, according to the speedometer, we were traveling at speeds only reached by the DeLorean made famous in the Back to the Future films. At that point, I didn’t care where I went…I wanted OUT! We rounded some curve and Commie Cabbie slammed on the brakes so we could stop for the train! Screeching combined with the sweet scent of burning rubber…oh, the imprint on my mind. To conserve fuel, he turned off the cab. Perhaps eliminating the ridiculous acceleration and deceleration driving maneuvers would help with the gas issue, too! Whereas the other cabbie had diverted us from the most direct path citing an accident to gauge us, this guy took us directly to the train. Clever. Finally, without any time travel, we reached the Riviera. Never had I been so happy to see that place. We threw the money at him and baled, no words ever exchanged.

Our last taxi ride was basically uneventful. We shared it with another woman to the airport. Talking with her resembled what Ethel and I view as normalcy and we didn’t really have to carry on with the cabbie. We didn’t get dropped off at our airline’s drop-off point, but the walking gave me even more incentive to finally get the frothy delight from Starbucks that I had delayed the entire trip. Thank goodness for my car! Cabs suck!

Duck Fook!

All season long, the seniors told the story of how much their recruiting class expected to achieve when they came to Duke. They were going to win multiple National Championships. Four years later, Redick, Williams, Dockery, and Melchionni have played their last game for Duke without winning one. ~ Alex Fanaroff

ADIEU!!!!!

Into the Wind

The bicycle is a curious vehicle. Its passenger is its engine. ~John Howard

Ride it like you stole it. ~ Pink Floyd

Growing up is full of big moments. Some of them you can see from a mile away; and some you can't see at all. ~ unknown

I knew it was happening, but it pains me terribly to see that my baby has grown into a little boy. He has learned how to ride a two-wheeler without the training wheels (that part must be emphasized as much in writing as it is when my son says it). The pride and satisfaction that oozes forth both when he talks about riding and actually rides fills my heart with joy and sorrow simultaneously. I was always so eager for Daughter to hurdle new challenges in life: learning to read, doing gymnastics, going to sleepovers, losing a tooth, etc. I find myself wanting to pull back the reins with Son for my own selfish reasons. Don't get me wrong, I love watching Son accomplish new feats, too, but it also saddens me because as he does so, it means that he is not my baby. It would not be fair to deprive him the opportunities that come with being a "big boy", so I encourage all of it. However, I think it's okay to privately yearn for my "big boy" to not get too "big" too fast. Now that Daughter is 10, I find myself not only wanting to pull back the reins, but feeling the need to pull the emergency brake. I am not ready for the physical aspects of puberty and certainly not ready for all the emotional aspects of it either. Yikes. Ready or not, here it comes. Despite all my sullen words, I am thrilled with Son's new accomplishment. He rides like he was born to pedal. I am jealous of his ability to do so with such carefree abandon. No fear, just fun. Just how it's supposed to be. OK. Now that all that is out, I can get on with watching time fly right before my eyes and rejoice in the fact that my babies are growing into healthy, happy people with minds of their own and joy in their hearts.

PS ~ To any of you who remotely think that this means that a third is the remedy, the answer is NO!

Overall Betrayal

If overalls are held up by the snaps at the top, then why do they have belt loops? - unknown

Apparently the answer to this is simple, based upon my own life experiences: so I could conceivably strap dangerous contraband or explosives to my body to sabotage a flight to Vegas.

Air travel: being stuffed into a suppository-shaped metal tube while smashed into seats next to an odd assortment of strangers who have the capacity to be the most annoying humans ever placed on the planet. Is this a quote from Webster's? NO! It is from the mental book written in my head entitled The World According to Me! Hey, if that old guy on 60 Minutes or that guy from the John Boy & Billy show can make a career out of sarcastically sharing their thoughts with the world, then I am entitled to do so on my blog!Anyway, in my quest to seek the smallest bit of comfort on the flight, I sought out the most comfortable outfit I owned: my beloved overalls. Baggy, roomy and completely unflattering...ahh, how I love my overalls! Comfort personified....or so I thought! Not being flight savvy, I donned my unsightly farmer attire thinking of nothing but my need to be comfy on the long flight. I could easily wear my clogs with this ensemble....making it easier to remove my shoes to walk through the metal detector. PERFECT! Unconsciously smiling many times during the drive to the airport thinking about my love for my overalls, I truly believed I had made the perfect attire selection. Not until I approached the metal detector and visibly saw the dude look directly at my waist (or more accurately, where my waist should be if it was not concealed by the bagginess of my overalls), did I even contemplate that overalls were anything less than wonderful. Instantly, in my mind I envisioned the "thought bubble" above this man's head containing visions of the wide variety of horrors my overalls were more than likely concealing: knives, clippers, guns, bombs, toothpicks, enough trinkets that could create the end of the world if I were MacGuyver. Immediately I knew that I was going to be lucky enough to get an added bonus: a wand-over and pat down from the next level of security. I was so glad that I had three metal fasteners at each hip....the wand beeped over each one, inviting a rub from Queen Latifah's rubber-gloved hand. This chick was like Mama in Chicago. Each wave of the wand was verbally described as was the pat down. I wondered if she had been trained by a gynecologist...ladies, you know how they describe EVERY move they make: "You are going to feel something....blah, blah, blah...as I blah, blah, blah!" After the hip search, I was even more delighted to have all the metal fasteners holding the straps to the bib of the overalls. Had it not been for the padding in my bra, this could easily have been a free breast exam! Good thing the medical community hasn't discovered this because I would have been slapped with a bill that insurance more than likely would not have covered! Not only were there metal fasteners on the straps, there were pockets on the bib pockets of the overalls! Thank you GAP designers for all the fashionable do-dads you affixed to my overalls. Thank you Brother for purchasing these overalls for me so I could get the bonus groping I was awarded. Thank you overalls for betraying me! Although you provided a comfortable flight, I could have done without the groping, gloved hands of Queen Latifah. Note to self: DO NOT WEAR OVERALLS TO FLY!

PS....On the return flight I opted for form fitting black exercise pants...again unflattering, but making it clear to the airport security team that there was NOTHING being concealed. Cottage cheese must not be considered a threat to Homeland Security. I threw my comfortable, oversized sweatshirt in the gray box for electronic scanning. Successful, non-groping boarding was the reward! :0)

A Ball Like None Other

You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on. - Joe E. Lewis

If this is the case, then it must apply to the horrors of an ear infection as well. I must be the epitome of health. Never in my life have I been so miserable. I compare this pain to the pain of childbirth (at least the contractions ease up between the crests) and the gas that resided in my shoulders after surgery. HORRIBLE! I woke to sheer pain at 3am on Sunday morning. The doctor saw me at 11am. After receiving the "scrip" for the infection, I humbly asked for pain relief...risking the chance of being viewed as one of our friendly neighborhood pill hounds. The codeine, which usually knocks me out quicker than a punch from Tyson, didn't come CLOSE to touching this pain or providing any form of unconsciousness. The dizziness, which still has not gone, is annoying to say the least. Shortly after seeing the doctor on Sunday, my eardrum ruptured! Oh the fun of that!!! Bloody pus oozing from my ear until Tuesday morning. Joy. Did I mention the nausea?! I didn't have to worry about any point counting on Monday because everything I consumed sought to live elsewhere! I am now on antibiotics for the infection and motion sickness medication to ease the dizziness which leads to the nausea. The constant ringing in my ear is a total nuisance. So, if you want to experience the shortcomings of alcohol consumption....dizziness and nausea....I suggest finding yourself a good old-fashioned ear infection!!! It will do the trick.