Bloggety Blah Blog

I am woman, hear me ROAR!

2007-04-12T10:45:00.001-07:00

Last week, I ordered myself my own personal elliptical. I love using the ellipticals at the gym, but it's so hard for me to get there regularly enough. It's particularly tough because I like to do my cardio in the morning and the gym doesn't open until 5 a.m., which is when I have to start getting ready for work.

Anyway, my elliptical arrived from Nordic Track on Tuesday. Because I'm a cheap bitch, I didn't pay the extra $199 to have someone come to my home and assemble the damn thing. And because I'm an impatient bitch, I decided to make a go at it myself instead of asking my father or brother to swing by when they got a chance.

Several hours, and many, many expletives later, I did it!! I put that son of a bitch together myself (with a little help from my trusty 11 year old daughter, who makes a hell of an assistant and my son, who did hold up one really heavy piece for me to connect some wires).

The moral of this story? I really don't need a man. Well, not when it comes to putting the screws to an elliptical anyway :)

The definition of fun

2007-04-03T19:38:00.000-07:00

A lot of things are fun. I know. I've done a lot of fun things. And yet, I'm not exactly sure if I can define it.

I can, however, identify with complete and utter certainty what is NOT fun. Cleaning 2 gabillion particles of glass out of a bathtub full of water because the shower door shattered? NOT.FUN.

And that, my dear readers, is your public service announcement for today.

Ivy Briefs

2007-04-03T12:06:00.000-07:00

Today I signed up for Google Checkout. For those who don't know, it's a lot like paypal. Anyway, there is a signup promotion going right now that will give you a $10 discount at certain retailers.

I used mine towards pre-ordering this. I am so excited. The author, Martha Kimes, has been a friend of mine for several years and I can attest to just how hysterically funny she can be. You should check out her blog The Random Muse for a sample of her cunning wit. You won't be disappointed.

She's a star

2007-04-01T08:34:00.000-07:00

My son has mad photoshop skills...

This is a picture my dad, the photographer, took. But Pokeboy is the one that made it look this awesome.

This is SPARTAAAAA!!!

2007-03-31T08:34:00.000-07:00

Last night I finally got to see 300. I've been wanting to see this movie since before it came out, but not having a date (or any real time to go see it alone) had prevented me from rushing right out like the rest of the masses.

I saw it in IMax. My first IMax experience. And let me tell you, what a way to bust that cherry.

In the words of my incredibly verbally gifted teenage son, "That movie was hecka tight!"

But for all the glory that has been given to the blood and gore and cinematic violence, it was the sex scenes that had me blushing. I'm sure that had nothing to do with the fact that I was sitting there in the darkened theater amid three of my favorite men in the world: my father, my brother and my son.

I would like to spend more time sharing my insight and being all verbose and shit, but my three little girls are running around yelling and screaming at one another in what may be the beginning of a war that could rival any fought by a Spartan...

Another time, perhaps.

The girl with the black thumb

2007-03-30T08:29:00.000-07:00

I hate gardening. I mean, I HATE gardening with the passion of 10,000 hot, fiery suns. That is why I don't do it. I used to have a gardner. But when the hubby and I split up, I thought it prudent to cut back on unnecessary expenses and said a sad farewell to the gardner. Life has not been the same since.

Not that I take that as my cue to take over. Oh, hell no. I just let things get totally out of control. And my boy, he knows how to mow. He mows my mom's lawn every other week for spending money. Maybe if I paid him too, he'd be more proactive about making sure things don't get this bad again...

The Dirty Thirty

2007-03-29T08:28:00.000-07:00

This is a meme because I can't think of anything better to write about today...if you're down to participate, then tag, you're it!

1. In two words, explain what ended your last relationship?
Good judgement

2. When was the last time you shaved your legs?
Umm, last weekend?

3. What were you doing this morning at 8am?
Walking in to work (an hour late)

4. What were you doing 15 minutes ago?
Trying to sneak out of work (1 1/2 hrs early)

5. Are you any good at math?
Uh, no.

6. Your prom night?
Pretty much sucked.

7. Do you have any famous relatives?
John Alden and Priscilla Mullins (passengers on the Mayflower). That's about it, I guess. Give me another 15 years or so, once my girls have a chance to grow up, and ask me again ;)

8. Have you ever taken out a loan to pay for school?
Nope. Didn't go to college.

9. Do you know the words to your MySpace song?
Some of them. The rest I just pretend or make up :)

10. Last thing u received in the mail?
Coupons and mail for other people.

11. How many different beverages have you drank today?
2 - coffee and water

13. Who did you lose your concert virginity to?
Evelynne "Champagne" King

14. Do you draw your name in the sand when you go to the beach?
Yes.

15. What's the most painful dental procedure you've had?
Wisdom teeth removal

16. What is out your back door?
Two dogs looking desperately to come back in.

18. Do you like the ocean?
To look at? Yes. To swim in? NO.

19. Have you ever received one of those big tins of 3 different kinds of popcorn for Christmas?
Yes.

20. Have you ever been to a planetarium?
Yes.

22. Something you are excited about?
Football season.

23. What is your favorite flavor of JELLO?
Do they have chocolate? No? No wonder I don't eat JELLO.

24. Are any of your great-grandparents still alive?
No.

25. Describe your keychain?
A silver cross with a crystal in the middle and a heart key fob with the letter D on it

26. Where do you keep your change?
In my wallet

27. When was the last time you spoke in front of a large group?
Maybe 9 years ago when I made a toast at my cousins wedding as the maid of honor.

28. What kind of winter coat do you have?
Winter? In Cali? I have several windbreakers and hoodies.

29. What do you think of the person you copied this from?
Never met 'em.

30. Do you sleep with the door to your room open or closed?
Open.

Blockbuster night

2007-03-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

So I drop by Blockbuster this morning to return some movies and perhaps pick up a new one. I have only the baby with me because all the other little chickens are in school. After struggling with the squirmy 2 year old and finally getting her situated in her car seat, I walk around the back of the car to get to the driver's side. As I approach my door, I notice my reflection in the storefront window.

In addition to my standard day-off jeans, I'm wearing a mid-thigh length tunic-style top that buttons up the front. Only, at this moment? It's only buttoned about 3/4 of the way up. Full frontal exposure. Thank God I was wearing a cute bra.

But, now I'm left wondering if the guy who checked me out at the register was really smiling at my giggling toddler, as I'd assumed, or if he was just enjoying the view.

Things to ponder...

Dear Web Cam Girl,

2007-03-27T14:53:00.001-07:00

I do not want to be your friend,
I do not have the money to spend.

I do not want to see your ass,
Or see you naked through the glass.

Not in a house,
Not in a tree,
Not for my cash,
Not even for free!

I do not want to play with your pearl,
I have my own, Web Cam Girl.

So, please stop asking for an ad.
Web Cam Girl, you are so sad.
And also very, very bad.
Don't believe me, just ask your Dad!

Signed,
Girl who doesn't swing that way

How we roll

2007-03-27T09:41:00.001-07:00

So, last night was a pretty typical night in my household. Come on in:

It's after dinner, and in a valiant effort to maintain some type of order in the chaos that is my home, I am standing in the kitchen making my way through the dinner dishes.

My 2 year old is standing at my feet, tugging on my pants leg, demanding to be put in her babing-ma-soup. That would "bathing suit" in the King's English.

My 6 year old is running around singing loudly to herself while she "cleans" the playroom before heading off to bed for the night. Intermittently, she's playing smackdown with my 15 year old, who should know better than to play so rough with his sister in the house. As is typical, this leads to peels of laughter, screams of indignance and tears of pain. From the 6 year old, not the teenager.

No, the teenager disappears back into the sanctuary of his cave, er bedroom, leaving me to deal with the weeping kindergartner.

The 11 year old sits on the computer, having discovered the joys of IM'ing with other 11 year olds with nothing better to do than homework. Of course, I am the one who turned her on to this as a means of discouraging the 10 cent per message texting that she was doing on her cell phone. I've created a monster.

At least she's not antagonizing the 6 year old.

I manage to distract the 2 year old with the last few squares of a Hershey bar. She'll drop anything for a little "chockit". A girl after her mama's heart.

The dog is barking in her crate because the storm outside has made her antsy. Now the other one starts up, because what's good for the goose, Pinky wants in on.

Welcome to our humble abode.

A pox on your family!

2007-03-16T10:29:00.000-07:00

Ok, it wasn't actually a "pox", but it seemed like some kind of plague. I'm finally feeling healthy again and looking forward to getting my life fully back in the swing. Unfortunately, I haven't had much to blog about, other than being sick and I'm trying desperately to take the focus off of the negative things in my life, including illness. So there you go.

Queenie is turning 11 in a little more than a week and we are having her birthday party tomorrow. I'm sure that will turn up some blog fodder. A house full of boy crazy 5th graders should have some type of entertainment value worth sharing.

I'll get back to you on that.

The sun'll come out...

2007-02-23T13:18:00.000-08:00

We had a really bad storm yesterday, followed by this. My rainbow is on the way, too. I just feel it.

Out with the old

2007-02-20T13:27:00.000-08:00

In with the new me. I was getting tired of that old template. Something about it was depressing me. Besides, I'm shedding the old, useless parts of me and making way for new and exciting things in my life. So there.

How my chocolate sees me

2007-02-16T10:35:00.000-08:00

Cute, right?

Tales of a 5th Grade Mom

2007-02-13T11:27:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned how annoying the 5th grade is? I swear, every.single.week Queenie has a different major project due. Why don't I remember having so many projects in the 5th grade. Selective memory, perhaps? I'm sure my mom would remember.

We were up until past midnight last night doing Queenie's wayward science project. Not finishing off the fine details, mind you. Doing.the.project. Because 24 hours ago? The project wasn't even started. Thankfully the girl managed to pick a topic that could be done at the last minute with reasonably faked data - the effect of exercise on heart rate.

I know, I know, I am not doing her any favors by teaching her to fake her way through an assignment. But I taught her a-stinking-lot about how to perform under the pressure of an impending deadline when it seems impossible.

Behold to done-ness.

And for a little extra cuteness - Pokeboy pretending he doesn't want his picture taken:

Scooby following her brother's lead:

Damned paparazzi!

2007-02-12T13:25:00.000-08:00

The plumber's came and did their thing Friday afternoon, but I was so busy, I didn't really have time to test it out. To commemorate the girl's first weekend (ok, overnight) with their dad, my mom and I went out to dinner. First, we poked around the aisles of Whole Foods just looking at random stuff and chatting. Then we ate a leisurely meal at Applebee's. Three whole hours of adult conversation without interruption from a child. It was like a little slice of Heaven.

Anyway, when I got up Sunday morning, I decided it was time to hunker down and address the steadily growing mountain of dishes. I turned the tap to hot and let it run. For quite a while. It only made it to luke warm, at best. I went out to the garage to check the pilot on the water heater to make sure it was still lit. It was and it was set fairly high. I smelled a little gas, but didn't get too awfully concerned. A little while later, however, I went back to check on it again and I could smell gas by the time I was 5 feet away from the water heater. So I called PG&E and they said they'd be out by 5 p.m. I decided to open the garage door to let some of the fumes out and this time I could smell gas as soon as I walked in. Scary.

Turns out there was a gas leak and handy PG&E-guy fixed it for me. Thank goodness. Tragedy averted. See? I AM lucky :)

The girls had a good time at their dad's and he even picked them back up on Sunday to take them to a birthday party. Overall, it was a good weekend.

And after some pretty heavy convincing, I got my mom to agree to put me and Pokeboy on a cell phone plan with her and I'm getting this in Strawberry. It should be delivered on Valentine's Day. Yay!

One of four reasons I continue to get up every morning

2007-02-09T07:39:00.000-08:00

Coming home to this...

What's missing from the pictures is the karaoke microphone she was singing into when I walked in the door. That girl is going to be a star, I tell you :) Go Scooby, go Scooby...

Brrrrr!

2007-02-08T11:27:00.000-08:00

Still no hot water. I had to sponge bathe with water I boiled on the stove last night. And wash my hair in frigidly cold water.

Still no resolution on the cell phone thing either. Which is really inconvenient when your car decides not to start in the Albertson's parking lot, where you stopped for only 10 minutes on the way to work to pick up a couple things for lunch. This has never happened before. Even though the random-not-starting has been going on for a couple of months, it has only ever happened in my own garage and only after a period of 8 or more hours of non-operation. Further evidence that this problem is worsening and will soon deteriorate completely. Probably at the least fucking convenient time possible.

And it was really, really embarrassing to be standing in the parking lot banging on my engine with a stick. I'm sure the guy who wandered over to see if he could help the "little filly" thought I was a complete idiot. Until it worked and my car actually started.

I did manage to get the payment for registration paid online today - the last day possible before getting hit with late penalties. So, yay for me on that one. But I still have to get it smogged and I cringe to think of the endless possibilities for life to suck even more once I visit the smog shop.

At least everyone seems healthy again. For now. Oh, and Bookem is taking the kids Friday overnight for the first time in the 4+ months that he has been gone. And it's Pokeboy's weekend at his dad's. I'll have a whole evening all to myself. Not a whole weekend, mind you, because he's claiming he has to work Saturday night (yeah, I'll buy that for a dollar). Still, I'm excited and I'm not sure what to do with myself.

Maybe I'll soak in a tub of freezing cold water :\

The fun just never ends

2007-02-07T08:40:00.000-08:00

I have no hot water. Since Monday night. And my cell phone is disconnected again.

The hot water situation came to light Monday evening when Queenie and Stanky wanted to take a shower. The water just ran and ran and never heated up. After a short panic, I decided it could just be the pilot light on the water heater. So, I called PG&E and arranged for them to come out Tuesday. Of course, all they had was an all day appointment, so I had to miss work and ended up waiting until 2:30 p.m. for them to show up. And, of course, it was more complicated than just the pilot light. Something needs to be replaced. Not the whole water heater, but still. I shudder to think how long it could be before I get a hot shower in my own damn house. My hair hasn’t been washed since Saturday. Gross.

And the cell phone situation…well that just has me at the edge of my sanity. My cell has been shut off 4 times (4 TIMES) since Bookem moved out in October. See, we share a family plan (the two of us and Pokeboy). It’s the one bill we still share. Of course, share = I pay it and it’s in his name. My phone is the one of the three that is still under contract, so I have considered myself stuck. Anyway, at the end of September, Bookem’s work cell broke and he was forced to use his personal phone, which he normally clocks 30 minutes or less per month on, for business purposes. In addition to sucking up most the 1,000 shared minutes on our plan, he used an additional 1,200 minutes. Yeah. Nearly a $600 bill. Needless to say, it was his companies responsibility to pay the bill.

T-Mobile cut me off at the end of October, before the billing cycle was even over, because they were so freaked out by the overage. That pissed me off totally. They wanted me to pay the bill and the bill wasn’t even out yet. Of course, the company wouldn’t pay until they saw the bill. Grrrrr. I finally spoke to someone with some sense and got myself back on. Once the bill came out, the company mailed a check immediately. Two weeks later, T-Mobile said they still hadn’t received it and cut me off again. We got the B’s company to call in with a check by phone and all was good again. Until that check got returned by the bank! So I was cut off AGAIN. Pissed doesn’t begin to describe my mood at that point. And Bookem was being far from proactive because, frankly, it wasn’t affecting him. Finally, the company called again, and this time paid with a credit card, including an additional $106 to cover fees resulting from all this nonsense. That was mid-December.

So Monday, we’re pulling out of the driveway and Pokeboy tried to use his phone only to find out it was disconnected again. I knew I paid my bill, so I was livid. Turns out, the $106 extra dollars? Was rejected by the company's bank. Talking to T-Mobile is like talking to someone in the psych ward. Their records are completely screwed up. I don’t know what is what, but I am ready to say Fuck T-Mobile and take the $200 early termination hit just to be done with it.

Also, I just realized my car registration is due and I need a smog this time around.

I am just so fed up. I mean, seriously, sick.to.death. of things going wrong. I can’t stand it anymore. What did I do to deserve this shit storm? Maybe there really are karmic repercussions for not forwarding all those chain emails. Maybe I was a mass murderer in a past life.

Will my luck ever change? Will my optimism be able to stand in the face of all this misfortune? Stay tuned.

Excuse me while I brush my teeth

2007-02-02T13:32:00.000-08:00

Have you seen the new Rembrandt toothpaste commercials? Holy mother of God, I think I got a hard on.

Seriously, ya'll know I lo-oves me some Tivo. I normally don't even watch commercials. Hell, I don't even know what movies are coming out because I zoom through all the trailers. But that commercial had me zooming backwards. First, to make sure I actually saw what I thought I saw the first time. Then, to watch that shit again. Just dayum.

Hallmark commercials don't make me cry, but toothpaste commercials make me horny. Clearly, I am going through more than a dry spell. I am in a serious love drought. So sad.

TAG, I'm it!

2007-02-01T11:12:00.000-08:00

After ducking and dodging for 4 or 5 days, I was finally caught by the bug. Although, I'm not 100% convinced it's the same thing Scooby had. That poor baby still wasn't quite right a week after her first symptoms. It's only been in the past couple of days that she has been back to her usual self. At any rate, Friday night, I came down with the beginnings of a terrible head cold/flu-type of thing that kept me in bed until yesterday.

In other news, my damned car wouldn't start again this morning. What is UP with that? It's been randomly not starting since sometime in early December. Initially, both Bookem and my brother thought it was my battery. That didn't make any sense to me, the total novice, because I seemed to have full power, just my car wouldn't start. But the battery did show a ton of corrosion, so I accepted when my brother offered to buy me a new battery for my birthday (which he gave me around the 1st of the year). Just as I figured, the problem continued.

I think now, as I did then, that it's my starter going out. Both Bookem and my brother showed me the approximate location of the starter (I still couldn't recognize it in a line up), and told me to tap on it gently to loosen it up. It works like a charm. Of course, it's not cute or dainty the way I have to pull the disembodied stick from my bathroom plunger out of my trunk and pop the hood so I can randomly tap on shit. Thankfully, this has only happened while the car is in my own garage thus far (knock on wood).

And of course, the "works like a charm" bit is wearing off. This morning it took me about 30 minutes before I actually got it started. I had already bitten the bullet and called Bookem to see if he could at least drive Pokeboy to school for me. Pokeboy normally takes the bus, but every once in a while foregoes that thrill for a chance to get a ride from me. He's such a mama's boy ;) About 2 minutes after making that call, the car started, much to Pokeboy's relief (Bookem is notoriously late for everything).

But I'm thinking my luck is running out and I'm going to have to get the starter replaced. I have a neighbor across the street who is a mechanic and has done work for us in the past for nominal money so I plan to talk to him and do my best damsel in distress routine :P But even with a good installation price, the part is ~$150.00 plus a core charge! I'm dying here. Just what I did not need.

But I know it could be worse, so I'm trying to just hold myself together and get over it. Spending cash is overrated, right?

In a twist of wonderful fortune, a generous, sweet, loving friend of mine sent me a suprise package from Sephora this week. I'm feeling very pampered. Love her! This is on top of the package I got from Bath & Body Works a couple of weeks ago from another treasured friend. I have really good friends. I must be doing something right.

Because they love me

2007-01-26T08:33:00.000-08:00

As excited as I was to receive such good gifts for my birthday this year, the kids cards were the best part.

I opened Stanky's card first and was totally cracking up. I was feeling a little giddy anyway, for whatever reason. But her card was obviously supposed to be from an adult child with phrases like "As a child, I didn't always appreciate the sacrifices you made for me..." and "It took me years of learning and growing..." Clearly, she picked her card based on the lavender cover and pretty bow on the front.

Pokeboy picked a funny card, but it wasn't as funny as what he wrote on the inside. "MOMMY!! I picked the best one because it is the most exciting!! And because I know what it means!! Love -Jordan P.S. Your big gift was 100% my idea. They had no idea what to get."

True to form, Queenie picked a card with a religious feel to it. The front features a removable, wallet sized card with a little prayer on it. The inside of the card says, "No matter how busy or hectic your days, You take time for others in so many ways, Quietly showing in all that you do, That God blessed the world on the day He made you!"

Sweet, right? But then, in her own writing (and imperfect spelling which I won't bother to recreate) she wrote:

Dear Mom,

I love you so much and the reason I picked this b-e-a-uuuuutiful card for you is because it defines you, who you are, and what you believe in. You do take time to take care of others. That's why I am glad to say that I am glad to have a mother like you!

It was happy after all

2007-01-25T09:34:00.000-08:00

As it turned out, I had one of the best birthdays I've had in a very, very long time.

My dad took my mom and I out for a nice teppan-yaki lunch. At the last minute, he invited along my best friend without telling me. THAT was awesome. Particularly since she and I don't get very much adult time together. My mom got me a wireless adapter for my TIVO, which I had requested at Christmas time and didn't get. My best friend gave me my favorite lotion, which I was almost out of at home.

Just before I had left for lunch, my dad's ex-wife brought me a bunch of balloons and a little gift from herself and my brother and sister. That was really nice. I haven't received a balloon bouquet since I was a teenager probably.

When I pulled up to my driveway after work, there was my dad again, delivering a super-huge helium balloon and a birthday cake for me and the kids to share. The night before my birthday, he had picked up the three older kids and taken them shopping to get me a couple of gifts. That was really nice because I knew they were going to feel really bad about not having something for me. Even though their own father never took them shopping for me even when we were together.

Then, when I went to get the little girls from the babysitters house, the babysitter had baked a cake with Stanky to give me. Soooo sweet.

When I checked my mail, there was a card from my aunt (the same aunt who came over Sunday evening with a trunk full of groceries for me and the kids) with a Starbucks gift card in it.

I ended up ordering pizza for dinner because Scooby was still so sick, there was no way she was going to let me stand in the kitchen and cook any kind of dinner. While we waited for the delivery, we opened my presents. A cool pedometer (Queenie's idea since she keeps hearing me say I want to start a walking program) and a CAR STEREO!

I am so stoked. I haven't had music in the car for about 6 weeks - ever since my brother had to disconnect my battery to clean the corrosion off my connectors or something. Honda apparently has some assinine security feature on their stock radios where, once they have been disconnected from the power source, you have to input a code to get the radio back on again. To get the code, you need the serial number from the back of the radio. Having no music in my car gives me entirely to much time to think about shit. Hopefully, the radio will get installed sometime soon. Right now it's sitting on my living room couch.

So see? A good birthday despite barfing babies. To give some perspective, last year's birthday involved a husband who didn't even remember to say "Happy Birthday" and kids who had no options but to hand make some cards with crayons and copy paper. Which I thoroughly appreciated, but made them feel bad. Tomorrow, I'll post the text that Queenie wrote on her card for me this year. It's really special. I wish I had a scanner.

Happy birthday to me

2007-01-23T08:45:00.000-08:00

I rung in my 37th year early this morning cradling a vomiting toddler. Yee-haw! I know how to party like a rock star!!

It could be worse. I could have been competing for face time with the toilet bowl.

...IamluckyIamluckyIamluckyIamlucky...

100 Things About Me

2007-01-22T15:00:00.000-08:00

I'm finally getting around to posting this...

100 Things About Me

1. I am disturbingly attracted to things that are pink.
2. I don’t like talking on the phone.
3. I talk to myself. Regularly.
4. I sing in the car. Loudly.
5. I think Grey’s Anatomy is television chocolate.
6. I’m a soccer mom and proud of it.
7. But I don’t drive a mini-van.
8. But I would if I could afford the gas.
9. I love anything if it’s chocolate.
10. Especially men, but that may be TMI.
11. I am a mystery shopper. Shhhhhh!
12. My biggest death-fear is smothering.
13. I love candles.
14. My favorite place to be is in a hot bath.
15. I’m terrified of sharks.
16. And bodies of water where I can’t see my feet.
17. I get motion sick easily.
18. I love dogs.
19. I believe in the power of a woman’s intuition.
20. I fully intend to have cosmetic surgery someday. Exactly what depends on what I can afford.
21. Black cats are my favorite.
22. I once took a Dale Carnegie course on public speaking.
23. I tried college twice, but quit before I finished a full semester both times.
24. I suck at mailing things.
25. If I could eat birthday cake every day and not gain any weight, I totally would.
26. My parents are both diabetic.
27. My favorite song of all time is a toss up between “Best of My Love” by The Emotions, "Adore" by Prince and "Spend My Whole Life" by Shirley Murdock.
28. I suffer from occasional insomnia.
29. I lived in my roller skates from the time I was 10 until I turned 12.
30. I am shamelessly addicted to reality TV.
31. I am a “winter”.
32. I suffer from short-term obsessions with video games. Currently, The Sims 2.
33. I think I have the most gorgeous kids on the planet.
34. And the most talented.
35. But I might sell them if the price was right ;)
36. I collect shot glasses from wherever I travel.
37. I have a complete set of China that my dad bought oversees when he was in the Navy.
38. I love things that sparkle.
39. I have Flintstone feet.
40. I love football and the boys who play it.
41. Go Redskins!
42. I don’t feel as short as I am.
43. Barney grew on me.
44. The Teletubbies did not.
45. Give me Spongebob any day.
46. I am helplessly addicted to sunflower seeds.
47. I blog because it forces me to exercise my brain.
48. I do not believe that there are horrific karmic repercussions for not forwarding chain emails to 10 of my friends and associates.
49. I love having my eyebrows plucked.
50. I am not afraid to wear red lipstick.
51. I lived in Virginia for 2 years.
52. I was my high school mascot (a Scotty dog). Go Highlanders!
53. I believe in ghosts.
54. I have lupus.
55. I am an optimist.
56. Coke over Pepsi, any day.
57. I’m a natural brunette, but I’ve pulled off blonde, red and nearly black.
58. I am more spiritual than I am religious.
59. I love a good thunderstorm.
60. I drink my coffee black.
61. MSG gives me migraines.
62. According to several unsolicited sources, I “look really good” for my age.
63. I always wanted to have 4 kids. Now I do.
64. I always wanted to be rich too. Still working on that.
65. I believe my soul mate is out there, and just as lonely for me as I am for him.
66. I hate gardening with the passion of 10,000 fiery suns.
67. I love all fashion, but I’m a sucker for cute shoes.
68. I have two brothers and one sister.
69. I don’t cry during weddings, funerals or Hallmark commercials.
70. I have freckles.
71. My eyes change colors depending on what I’m wearing.
72. If laughing out loud were a sport, I’d be an Olympic gold medalist.
73. If I had more free time, I’d take a class in painting or photography.
74. When I retire, I want to live by the water.
75. I want to run a marathon someday. Or at least a 5k :)
76. I’m harder on myself than I should be.
77. I can’t eat pancakes unless they have chocolate chips in them.
78. The toenail on my pinky toe looks like something truly deformed.
79. I dress up my dogs.
80. I used to be “athletic”, but I never really played an organized sport.
81. I can be crafty when I want to be.
82. I learned how to knit last year, but I still haven’t finished my first scarf.
83. I enjoy reading, but mostly inconsequential stuff.
84. When I was a teenager, I hated my hometown. Now, I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
85. I’ve lived in 10 different apts/houses since moving out of my mom’s house at the age of 20, but I’ve never moved “back home”.
86. I started working at the age of 14 so I could save for my first car.
87. My first car was an orange ’74 Super Beetle.
88. My parents eloped.
89. My grandfather was taken prisoner by the Japanese in World War II at the battle of Wake Island, even though he was a civilian, and was held for 1,444 days.
90. I graduated high school in 1988.
91. I don’t know how I lived before TIVO.
92. I was blessed with naturally straight teeth.
93. Every once in a while, I make breakfast for dinner.
94. My first love was a drug addict.
95. I often have weird bruises that I have no idea how I got.
96. I admire people who stand up for their beliefs, even if I don’t agree with them.
97. I love to dance.
98. High heels make me feel more confident than I normally would.
99. I am a very vivid dreamer.
100. I’ve never been outside of the continental United States.

I am so lucky

2007-01-19T08:04:00.000-08:00

I am not unlucky that my tire blew out on the side of the road. I am lucky because I didn't get hit by the oncoming traffic that caused me to veer onto the shoulder and into the pothole.

I am not unlucky that my heater keeps going out. I am lucky that I have a roof over my head and blankets to cover my children with.

I am not unlucky because Stanky had to have an emergency tooth extraction. I am lucky that she doesn't have cancer or diabetes or congenital heart disease.

I am not unlucky because my car radio isn't working and I have to drive to work every day in silence. I am lucky because I have a job to drive to.

I am not unlucky because I am going through a divorce after 13 years of chasing a bad relationship. I am lucky to be out of that heart breaking, spirit crushing situation.

I am not unlucky to be constantly on the go and never having any time to myself. I am lucky to have four incredible children who bring me far more laughter than tears.

I am not unlucky because my phone line keeps going dead for no good reason. I am lucky because I haven't endured an emergency that required a phone call to the police/fire department/ambulance.

I am not unlucky because I never seem to have enough money. I am lucky because my life is rich with people who care for me and jump through hoops to come to my aid no matter what.

You've GOT to be kidding me...

2007-01-18T10:17:00.000-08:00

Apparently, the Universe has decided that my life isn't quite suck-ass enough, so it graciously threw me another curve ball.

The day before yesterday, I left work slightly later than usual and traffic was picking up as the shifts at the hospital began to change. The road I travel on is a bumpy, pot hole ridden, single lane each way country road. For the most part, my journey to and from work is a peaceful one, surrounded by orchards and rolling meadows. But not on Tuesday.

As I was driving along, minding my business, a cluster of oncoming traffic moving my way caused me to veer a little closer to the shoulder. It doesn't take much for someone to drift over the center line, so I am always extra cautious of oncoming traffic. Anyway, just as I scootch over - BOOM! I hit a pothole right on the shoulder. And at the perfect angle for totally obliterating my front passenger side tire.

I pulled over immediately, screaming all the foul obscenities I could muster, and got out to check my tire. Yep, totally fucked. So, I call my brother, my rescuer, my salvation. He's been quite busy since my separation from my husband, but to be fair, I've called on my dad ten or six times as well. Well, my brother was right in the middle of something, and was willing to drop everything and come running, but tactfully suggested that I give our other brother a call and see what he was up to first. Something I hadn't thought of myself because our little brother is only 19 and hasn't previously been on my sister-in-need-of-rescue radar. But changing a tire was certainly something he could handle. And he lives alot closer to where I was.

Both of my brothers are princes among men, but my 19 year old brother and I have a mutual admiration society, so he was more than willing to rush to my aid. And aid me he did. Unfortunately, once he got the spare on, it was immediately apparent that there was not enough air in there. Something my other brother had predicted, both because he has more experience and because he is perfectly anal and thinks of these types of things.

So my little bro suggested that I follow him very slowly to the gas station and he would fill it up with air. A perfectly tangible plan for a mildly-experienced 19 year old boy and a total half-wit 36 year old woman. A smarter plan would have been to remove the spare, go fill it with air and bring it back. Much, much smarter, as it turns out, because by the time we made it to the gas station, my spare was totally shredded. FUCK.

Little Bro immediately starts calling everyone he knows to see if anyone has a four-lug spare. Sadly, every.last.person he knows has a five-lug car. FUCK again. Finally, I get a ride into town with my sad, broken tire and meet my other brother, the one with the credit card. He takes over the rescue from there. We go to two different shops and end up spending $75 on a new tire and then waiting about 45 minutes for them to put it on. By the time I got home for the day, it was 8:45 p.m.

As if my day weren't sour enough, I remembered that I was supposed to do a mystery shop on my way home from work and missed it. My Internet connection was totally fucking with me, so I couldn't even go online and reschedule.

THEN, to add insult to injury, I go to turn on the second half of the season premiere of American Idol, and find out my cable is off. Which means, of course, that even TIVO isn't picking it up. I manage to get that worked out and catch the last 45 minutes of the show.

I feel like crying, y'all. All that stuff I said about being an optimist, yeah, seeeeriously being tested right now.

Pedicure-ly challenged

2007-01-16T11:20:00.000-08:00

I've been spending time perusing dating websites lately. I'm not particularly ready to start dating, but I have been living in an emotional desert for quite a long time. It's time to end the drought. Or, at least wet my lips a little in preparation for a tall glass of water.

I find it interesting reading some of these guys profiles. I immediately pass by guys who use words like "conversate" or who refer to women as "females". Also, men who are over 30 and dress like my 15 year old son. Just no. Then, there are the ones who have a mortal fear of using spell check. Or worse, the ones who use abbreviations like u for you or ben for been. And, for the love of God, how can a grown man respect himself when he uses the letter 'z' to pluralize something?

But what really has me questioning reality is the number of men out there who seem to embrace idea of pretty feet. I understand attention to grooming and there may even be something uniquely feminine about regular pedicures. But pretty is just not an adjective I've ever used in a sentence that also contains the words "my feet". Not even, "These shoes look really pretty on my feet". I may have said, "Wow, my feet are pretty tired", but even that's a stretch because I'm much more of a "Fuck! My feet hurt!" kind of gal.

I do think my feet are cute. In a Fred Flintstone-Barney Rubble-bust-through-the-floorboard-and-pedal-your-car kind of way. They're short and stubby and a little bit on the wide-side. But, still, cute. Almost childlike. At least they aren't hairy, gnarly toed, little hobbit feet. Although the toenails on my pinky toes have been known to elicit the phrase "*gasp*Oh my God, what happened to your TOE?!" on more than ten occasions. By the same person. But the other eight toenails are fine and hold a coat of polish as well as the next girl's.

Sigh. It's bad enough to live in a world where the standard of beauty is set by tall, skinny, big breasted women with no stretch marks and only one chin. Now even my FEET don't even measure up.

Aren't there any specialty dating websites that call for freckle-faced, thighs-touching-together, fat-footed women with 4 kids, 2 dogs, a dead-end job and no money? That's a bill I can fill.

Where is Scooby Doo when you need him?

2007-01-12T09:49:00.000-08:00

Ever since I moved into my current residence, one year and 4 months ago, I've continued to receive mail for the previous owners. It's really annoying because they recieve a.lot.of.mail.

You kind of accept that you are going to be getting some misplaced mail when you first move somewhere because even with forwarding notices and notifying the mailman, you are still going to have some slip-ups. But we are talking, I receive something for one of them (there appears to have been a father, a mother and a son) every.single.day.

Important stuff, too. Like tax information and what appear to be checks. College registration information and DMV notices. And I have no forwarding info for them. Do these people not realize they aren't getting their mail? Where have they gone to that they no longer need their W2's?

So last month, when opening my own litany of Christmas cards (thank you homegirls, I love getting things in the mail that aren't bills!), I opened one of theirs by mistake. Ok, it wasn't a mistake, I was just curious who was sending them a Christmas card for the SECOND Christmas that they no longer live here. Shhh, it's a federal offense, you know.

It was signed Grandma. They didn't tell Grandma they moved?! Are they in the witness protection program or something? Should I be keeping my eye out for a prison break in case someone in my house was once a stoolie? Should I be worried that I could be mistaken for Mrs. Martin and get taken out by the mob while I'm driving home from WinCo?

Or maybe Grandma Pearl is a real pain in the ass and they didn't want her to track them down. She didn't include any money in the card, and that's not good Grandma etiquette.

It's a mystery.

Father, it's been 1 week and 3 days

2007-01-12T09:40:00.000-08:00

since my last entry. Forgive me for I have sinned.

I must have done something, anyway, because my DAMNED HEATER IS OUT AGAIN!! I mean Fresno, CA isn't exactly the Swiss Alps, and I've often said that I'd rather be cold than hot, but this is getting ridiculous. It worked for a whopping 2.5 weeks this whole winter. And right now, the overnight low's are in the low 20's. That's pretty cold for around here. We don't even have appropriate clothing, really, for this type of weather because it just isn't common.

Outside of that, Stanky had an abscessed tooth yesterday and had to have it extracted. Joy, joy. On a good note, we went to a new dentist and we really, really loved him. He was very good with her. And with me. The whole staff was awesome really.

Plus, I went down the DA's office and put the wheels in motion for child support on Pokeboy. Bookem is helping me out with the girls, financially, even if it isn't as much as he should be. But Pokeboy's father hasn't sent as much as one dime my way and now that I'm single-mothering, I need every cent I can get. Relief is on the horizon.

Despite a rocky start so far, I'm very optimistic about 2007. This will be a good year for me :)

She's baaaaack!

2007-01-02T13:56:00.000-08:00

The very day that I wrote my last post, my heater was finally (FINALLY!) fixed. And on that same day, my internet broke. I went to work Friday thinking I would post a few fairwells before I headed into a two week holiday vacation from work, but no. My internet at work was also on the fritz. Hopefully that will be fixed before I head back next Monday.

Anyway, AT&T sent a tech to my house today who got me up and running. Thank.God.

I have several posts in my brain and will try to get them up in the next few days. I did myself a favor and followed up on that notebook idea, so I wouldn't forget everything ;)

Feast or famine

2006-12-21T14:45:00.000-08:00

You know what I need? A little notebook that I can chain around my waist or something so I can write down blogging ideas as I go. I swear just this morning I was thinking of something sufficiently interesting to blog about here, but as of now, it is completely, irrevocably gone from my brain. Not a trace of it left. It was probably stupid anyway. But it was something!

In other news, P. Diddy's a daddy! Again. My grandma always said if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all. But, she also slathered butter on burns and accidentally called me by the dog's names, so clearly, she was confused on some things. Still, I won't get all up on my pedestal and dog on his lack of support for the son he doesn't live with. Or make comments about polluting the gene pool. Because, I'm not one to gossip.

Ok, I really just didn't have anything more interesting to discuss today. But, it's still true.

I'm it!

2006-12-08T10:23:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged by my dear friend Kimberly. This is officially my first meme.

Dear Santa,

It's been years since we last spoke. Although, I trust you've enjoyed the cookies and milk I've faithfully left out every year (and the occasional beer, but that's just between you and me, Santa). The reason I'm writing this year is that I have undergone a procedure to remove my Bah Humbug (otherwise known as marital seperation) and I'm feeling much more in the Christmas spirit than I have in over a decade. That, and the fact that I won't be seeing many presents under the tree that didn't come from the Dollar Tree, unless you come through for me this one last time.

As I'm sure you know, I have been a very, very good girl. Overlooking a few screaming tirades (per day) and calling in sick every once in a while just so I can get some sleep. And that time I forgot to feed the dog. But, I remember to feed the kids every.single.day. They may not see the inside of a bathtub regularly, but I supply them with plenty of good smelling lotions and hair products to mask the stench. I have done more laundry than I thought was humanly possible and I've even been completely caught up once or twice in the past 12 months, which is an improvement over the previous year.

I voted Democratic and rescued an animal from the shelter this year. I refused to put the smackdown on Bookem at least 968 times this year alone because it wasn't in the children's best interest, even though I would have found it very personally satisfying.

That said, here are the things I would like to see under the tree this year:

1) The Nanny. No, not Fran Drescher, there is enough nonsensical chit chat in annoying high pitched voices going on around my house as it is. No, I'm talking about that Nanny 911 chick. Speaking of smackdowns, my kids need one. Badly.

2) A Boy. My own personal boy of the muscular, shirtless variety to wander around my house and do shit that needs to be done. Including me :) Said boy will keep his opinions to himself and his bodily functions private. And stay out of the Nanny's way.

3) The voice of an Angel. The fact that I cannot carry a tune has never stopped me from singing out loud at the top of my lungs. It would be nice if it sounded as good to others as it apparently does to me.

4) Post baby-body miracle tonic. Extra strength. In chocolate, please. I'm sure you've gotten this request in spades, but please make sure I get mine before your stocks run low. I have had 4 babies and the considerable morphing in my midsection must be stopped and reversed before I exit my 30's. According to Janet Jackson, 40 is the new 20 and I want to look like her when I get there.

5) Mr. Right. I know this is a lot to ask, especially since I already have a Boy on order. But, seriously, if you don't deposit him under my tree, how will I ever find him? In an ideal world, he and the Boy can peacefully co-exist. Ya feel me?

6) A solution to global warming. Earth can be as peaceful as a sleeping baby but it won't matter if it's too damned hot to live here. Oprah and Al Gore really freaked my shit the other day.

7) A winning Lotto ticket. If you give me this one, I promise to send you a Christmas card next year instead of a list. I'll still put out the cookies if you want. Hell, I'll serve you the cookies from a platter perched on top of my brand new post-surgical breasts. Just show me the money!

8) Some Act Right Juice. Not for the kids, they have the Nanny. It's for me. Sometimes I just can't seem to get my shit together and a little help would be appreciated. No, gin does not work. Neither does Prozac. I've tried.

9) A pocket full of Karma. To be dispensed at my discretion to whomever I see fit. My hit list is very full right now, so we better super-size it. And I may need a refill on this next year, regardless of my financial windfall.

10) The ability to suspend time. Really, even with the Nanny and the Boy, I still don't see how there can ever be enough time to get everything done. And I'm going to have a lot of shopping to do.

So you see Santa, I think I'm being quite reasonable. I'm not asking you to deliver me the moon (although the deed to a plot of land up there might not be a bad idea, in case that whole end to global warming thing doesn't pan out).

In the event that you aren't able to come through on any of these perfectly sane requests, something sparkly would be nice. Or something electronic. Or, hell, something that doesn't cost a dollar.

Until next year,

Diane

P.S. Tag Martha and Mingaling, you're it!

Multilingual

2006-12-08T09:47:00.000-08:00

I have this giant, purple chair that everybody loves. It's actually a chair and a half and it reclines and it so soft and pretty and comfy. Currently, I have it tucked into a corner of my room where two windows meet and I sit in my beloved chair after a long day and read and watch TIVO and snack and snooze and whatever. Escape. My purple chair = escape. Occasionally, I share the sanctity of the purple chair with a child sipping a bottle or with homework in her lap or a book begging to be read aloud. But mostly, I hog it all to myself.

For the past couple of weeks, my heater has been broken and, despite my landlords good faith attempts to get it in working order, it has yet to be fixed. Because I am a good and loving mother, and have no interest in treating frostbite, I have allowed 3 of my 4 children to camp out in my bedroom so we can all share the one space heater in our arsenal of weapons against the cold. The 4th child, Pokeboy, has such a small inner-sanctum that his computer keeps the whole room warm. Besides, the computer might have nightmares if he left it by itself all night ;)

Sharing your bedroom with 3 little girls is not fun. Not fun at.all. They treat my room as they would treat their own. Which is to say carelessly and messily and with utter lack of respect. Now, when the time for going to bed comes, I cannot send them their separate ways and retire into my peaceful retreat. My retreat has become a zoo.

Last night, after a long day and evening, I sat in my sweet, sweet purple chair, fully reclined, listening to Queenie chatter endlessly about a script she is writing for a skit at school and holding precious Scooby as she drifted towards dreamland. Poor Stanky had been vying for attention for a good 30 minutes and had been repeatedly told to go lay down and go to sleep.

Suddenly, I see these little disembodied feet sticking out from underneath the footrest of my recliner, straight up into the air shaking up and down vigorously.

"Do you know what this means in Spanish, Mommy?"

"I have no idea, Stanky."

"It means 'Stop it'".

Who knew my child was bilingual?

The two faces of me

2006-12-07T09:15:00.000-08:00

You know what I realized today? I'm depressed.

My house is a mess, I'm forgetting appointments right and left, I'm up 5 lbs. in less than a month, I'm tired, and I feel like my kids are sucking the life right out of me. Quite a contrast to Monday's post. It's not like anything specific has happened in that time either. I'm just feeling very edgy today.

Just 6 weeks ago I was feeling pretty good about things, feeling like I had all my little ducks in a row. Then, about 3 weeks ago, Queenie got sick and then I got sick and in the short span of a week, those damned anarchist ducks staged a riot. At this point, I'm not even sure where all of my ducks are, but they sure as hell aren't in line. There may be a couple in line for Starbucks, but we need the caffeine. *sigh*

The house being a mess is both a cause and a symptom of my depression. I can't stand having messes everywhere. It is truly making me feel nutso edgy. Therefore, causing me to feel stressed and depressed. But, I can't seem to get off of my ass to do any real damage control, which means that it is also a symptom that I am depressed.

The kids are completely.out.of.control. And it's bound to get worse because we are closing in on winter vacation, which means that they are going to be home all day, storing up energy and boredom and saving it for when I get home from work. Yay.

Admitting I have a problem is the first step, right?

An epiphany, of sorts

2006-12-04T14:49:00.000-08:00

You know what I realized today? I'm actually kind of happy right now. It just hit me out of nowhere, really. I mean, I'm in the midst of a divorce, I'm broke more often than not, my kids are completely out of control half the time and I find myself screaming at the top of my lungs more than is probably healthy. But my overall stress level is down from 6 months ago. Or even 3 months ago. I'm somewhat lonely, in that I-could-really-use-a-good-man-right-about-now kinda way, but I'm filled with hope about the future and all the possibilities that it may hold. Stuff around my house keeps breaking down and my attitude is pretty much "Eh, it'll get fixed".

What is wrong with me? Whatever it is, I hope the cure is years away :)

Hey, whaddayaknow

2006-12-01T14:17:00.000-08:00

HowManyOfMe.com

There are:
97
people with my name
in the U.S.A.

How many have your name?

Where in the hell have I been?

2006-12-01T12:57:00.000-08:00

Wow. Looking at the date of my last post, I have been MIA for a decent clip. Now that I have an actual, bonified regular reader who signed up for my Notify list (what's up, cuz?), I feel somewhat obligated to provide more dependable, quality entertainment.

For those readers (all 2 or 3 of you) who don't know me either in person or from any other venue, I should mention that I have recently separated from my husband. It was a difficult decision, but it was what I felt I needed to do. Even though I keep things anonymous here, I'll likely try to refrain from too much post-separation, ongoing divorce bashing. Suffice it to say, I was not happy and I decided that life is too short to spend one more day chasing after something that couldn't be caught.

At any rate, I've been quite overwhelmed with the logistics of the change in my life and haven't given my blog due attention. I will try to get back on track.

For the record, I had an amazing time in Vegas in October with 20 of the coolest women ever. Don't be sad, local girls, I love you too :)

Bright lights, big city

2006-10-19T14:38:00.000-07:00

This time tomorrow, I will be sitting on a plane on my way to Las Vegas!

Neener.Neener.

Overheard in the kitchen last night

2006-10-19T12:05:00.000-07:00

Stanky: Hee, look Mom, Pinkerton is biting my hand!

Me: Mmm-hmm.

S: Ha ha, now he's licking all over my hand, Mom!

M: That's cute, honey. Make sure you wash your hands really well before dinner.

S: Why?

M: Because Pinky licks his butt.

S: He does?

M: All dogs do, honey.

S: [pause] I think I'll go wash them ri-ight now.

M: Good idea, honey.

Diane and the Terrible, Horrible, Awful Day

2006-10-16T09:14:00.000-07:00

Those of us who grew up in the 1980's know that Saturday the 14th is totally more heinous than Friday the 13th, right? Right.

I'm all about proving ridiculous theories.

So my Saturday starts off like this. It's my turn to make snacks for Stanky's soccer team. Traditionally, when it's my turn for snacks, I make yummy breakfast burritos for the whole sideline. Since Stank's game was at 8:45 a.m. and I didn't want to have to get up at the ass crack of dawn, I decide to pre-make the filling items (chorizo and a potato mixture) Friday night. Thank God for that.

Saturday morning comes and I hit snooze at least twice before rising. I get my coffee started and wash some dishes from the night before to give myself more room in the kitchen, all while reheating the burrito stuffins' in the microwave. I get Queeniethebestlittlehelperofalltime up out of bed and we get a real system going. She heats the tortillas in the microwave and I roll. We get about 18 burritos deep...and the power goes out.

A planned outage. Whyohwhy do they send those damned notices out so far in advance? Of course, it was posted to the fridge so I wouldn't forget, but really, I put it there three weeks ago or something. So. Shit. At least I've got 18 done. There are only 7 kids on the team, so I know I at least have them covered. I'm hoping, at this point, that the Capri Suns I threw in the freezer just a short time ago will have enough time to really get cold.

Meanwhile, Stanky is now up and looking for her soccer uniform. Which, of course, she cannot find. Why? Because she wore it to my sister-in-law's house last weekend after her game when she went over to play and spend the night. Oh yeah, and said sister-in-law is out of town this weekend. Craptastic.

No uniform means no play. I resolve myself to this, as pissy as it makes me, and call my mother who is keeping my niece and nephew and bringing them to the game (niece plays on the same team with Stanky). I explain my shitter of a day so far, and ask her to come by and retrieve the snacks on her way to the game.

At this point, I'm just shooting to make it to Queenie's game on time at 9:30 a.m. Stanky, who only randomly even likes soccer, has a monumental meltdown over not being able to play. I finally calm her down by promising to leave for Queenie's game early to go to the playground while the team warmed up.

Mom doesn't get to my house until theee last minute to pick up the snacks. We rush around and get her back out the door. Two minutes later, she's back. Her car is dead. Completely.fucking.dead. As in no electrical, no nothing. Fuck.me.

We play around in the engine for a few minutes in a piss poor attempt to figure out whatinthehell is wrong. Finally, I decide I'd better just run the snacks over to the game, because by now, it's half way over. I run around trying to get myself ready while the rest of my house is basically in chaos. Now we've got all three of my girls running around not ready and we've added my niece and nephew to the mix. Pokeboy slept through all of this. Damned teenager.

Before I can leave, Pinky decides to perform his latest trick - run out the front door and keep on running because nobodycancatchmeyayayayay! Fun stuff.

I begin to wonder what else can go wrong but try to refrain from voicing my pondering aloud because, undoubtedly, something can.

The plan is for me to meet Mom and the kids at the park. Since the park is only a half mile or so from my house, they will walk there.

By the time I get back from dropping off the snacks, and stopping at Starbucks for a heavenly concoction with an extra shot of espresso (they don't do shots of whiskey, believe me, I asked), I find a great parking spot at the park and get out, on time, for Queenie's game. That's when I realize that my chairs are not in my trunk, like usual, but on my garage floor. Goodbye good parking spot. Goodbye ontimeness. Back to the house I go.

The game turned out to be great. Queenie scored two goals. The other kids had fun at the park. My bestest friend and her mom came to the game and that was fun.

By the time I got home, I was wiped. I saw little choice, really, but to unmake my bed and climb back into the covers I never should have forsaken. Of course, while I was pseudo-napping, my phone rang 4 times, my kids ran amok and made enough noise to wake the dead and, apparently, someone shot my car with a paintball gun right in my driveway.

Sigh.

One of the calls was my cousin offering me a free ticket to go to a charity function at Fort Washington Country Club. But, frankly, I was afraid to leave my house.

The lull before the storm

2006-09-16T08:28:00.000-07:00

I sit here this morning enjoying my coveted coffee waiting for the hurricane to hit.

Today both of my girls have their first soccer games of the season, Stanky's is her first game ever. Stank's game starts at 11:45 a.m., which means we have to be at the field by 11:15 a.m. Queenie's assuredly far more exciting game begins at 12:30 p.m. She has to be at her field, a different place entirely, by 12:00 p.m.

I'm assuming the second game will be over by 1:45 p.m. or so. Then - we have to be at a funeral, across town, by 2:30 p.m. Clearly, we will not be appropriately dressed. So we must rush home, change into dressy clothing, and dash across town in 45 minutes flat. That's assuming the game ends on time and I can get the kids to the car with minimal fuss.

Queenie has a birthday party to go to from 4 - 6 p.m. She RSVP'd for said party weeks ago and it's for her new soccer coach's daughter. Fortunately, it's located relatively close to the church we'll be at.

While I'm rushing to and fro today, I'll be doing so knowing that I'm coming home to a sink full of dirty dishes, debris littered floors, and piles (mountains, rather) of laundry to be washed, folded, and put away. Even as I'm typing this, the kids are clammering about asking for food and the phone is ringing.

Somebody hold me.

Godzooky in the house!

2006-09-10T09:16:00.000-07:00

I am raising a baby Godzilla. The shrill, high pitched shrieking in response to every.damn.thing is going to be the death of me, I tell you. That is all.

And the verdict is in

2006-09-07T10:21:00.000-07:00

Why didn't somebody remind me that I had jury duty this week?! What? I forgot to mention it? Well, that's a lame excuse.

I'm laying in bed Tuesday night, I've finished watching a thrilling episode of Big Brother All Stars (go Janie!) and I'm not quite ready to go to sleep yet. So, I reach over to my bedside table, where I set things I want to have a look at during down times such as these (cause that happens soooo often), and pick up a handful of miscellaneous papers from the kids school to review. Having picked up said stack of papers, my eye was caught by a piece of paper I'd sat there several weeks ago - also known as My Jury Notice. My brain immediately jumped into oh shit mode because I had a sinking feeling that this was my week. Sure enough. I was supposed to call in 9/5/06. Um, too late for that.

Last time I had jury duty, I called in every day and every day it said call back tomorrow until the last day when it said nevermind, we don't need you afterall. So I was hopeful that perhaps my husband was wrong and that I wasn't being frantically sought under a bench warrant for failure to obey my civic duties. I jumped out of bed and went to check the internet, which is the other option besides calling in. Turns out, my group was being called the next day. Whew! And crap. There goes my Wednesday off.

Thankfully, I was not chosen for a jury, or even sent to a courtroom. After wasting 3 hours in a holding room and listening to a bunch of orientation for something I ended up not having to do, I was released and sent on my merry way. I should have gone straight to the babysitters house and picked up the baby and then on to pick up the girls from school. But I utilized my unexpectedly free time for some retail therapy instead. I landed ~$300 worth of clothes for $50. All for me! Yay me!

I'm alive

2006-09-05T12:53:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's really been awhile. I'm not doing so great on my promise to keep my posting fresh. A lot has been going on in my day to day life, but not a lot of it is bloggable at this point.

I guess I need to focus on the fact that not all entries have to be super long, or even super interesting :) I will try to commit to putting down a paragraph or two, even if it is relative nothingness, going forth.

Of course, I'm drawing a total blank right now. But I'll try again tomorrow.

Terrorism Tangent

2006-08-11T13:52:00.000-07:00

All my life, I've had a recurring nightmare. I mean, since I was wee. It has decreased somewhat over the years to where I don't really remember the last time I had one, but it's been within the past 5 years or so.

Anyway, the dream is that a plane lands on me. Crashes, rather. Kind of like Ritchie Valens in La Bamba, only I'm not on the plane. The dream is different every time in terms of the actual circumstances. I might be in a car or a house or out in the open. I might be shopping or at school or on a road trip. I might be by myself or with loved ones. But, the basic theme is the same. I look up, see a plane in trouble (smoking, burning, whatever) and it either blows up and pieces fall on me or it comes barreling down on me.

As a result, I have a tendency to look up when I see or hear a plane and watch as it makes it's path through the sky. Watch until I know it is safely beyond harming me. Watch with trepidation for any.signs.what.so.ever that it may be having trouble. Like I could outrun it if it was.

Freakishly, we actually had a plane crash in our town some years ago. Fortunately, it was on the complete opposite side of town from where I usually am. It came down in the middle of the street, parts of it crashing through the roof of an apartment complex, pieces of it driving through car windshields. It was horrifying. I remember feeling paralyzed with fear when I heard about it on the news.

Last week, my oldest daughter, Queenie says to me, "Mom, I had the worst nightmare the last two nights. The same dream." It was like time stood still. My bowels started to run cold and the blood drained from my head. I remained cool. She continued, "blah, blah, blahblahblah, blah, blah, and then I looked up at the sky..." Hold it together, D, you're driving a car here "and there was this helicopter..." Whew, not a plane, she didn't say plane "and it started smoking..." Oh holyfuckingshit "and it blew up!" I'm pretty sure I blacked out at that point, because I don't really remember how our conversation went after that. I asked a couple more questions while silently freakingthefuck out.

Ok, so fast forward to this past weekend. My middle daughter, Stanky, comes running out of her room, where she had been playing behind a closed door, and says, "Mom! God just told me a plane is going to crash here in 15 minutes!" I'm dizzy. "What? What are you talking about?" "God. He just told me that a plane is going to crash here." Breathe. Just breathe. "What do you mean here? You mean, like here here? Like on our house or in the street outside? What?" Get a grip, D. "Um, I'm not sure. Not on our house, but here. In the street, I guess. Jesus told me. In 15 minutes." Could I conceivably get everyone dressed and out the door in 15 minutes? Where would we go? Can't she be more specific?!

At that point, I realized I was on the verge of hyperventilating or something, so I sent her back to her room and busied myself with the boob tube so I could forget what was most assuredly a 5 year old delusion. But like, 14 minutes later, she comes out again. "One more minute, Mom! The plane is going to crash."

I may or may not have been holding my breath at that point.

Clearly, nothing happened. But what the fuck kind of contagious, mass hysteria is this? Are we the plane crash family? Did I psychic-ly project my fears onto my daughters? Did they receive some sort of damage in the womb from one of my nightmares? Damn, I knew I was a vivid dreamer, but come on.

In light of all of this, it should come as no suprise that with this week's news, I am developing a crick in my neck from looking towards the sky.

Rising to the challenge

2006-08-05T11:08:00.000-07:00

So my friend Martha issued a challenge to post what you used to look like on your website. A double-dog dare, actually. It's taken me a few days, but I'm a down ass chick, so here we go. Not all of my photos are from my yearbook, because unlike Martha, I apparently wasn't that popular :) I am also not as funny as Martha, so the pictures will have to be comedic enough on their own. Mostly, they are.

We started here with my freshmen yearbook photo.
As an embarrassing aside, I am revealing one of my previous obsessions from this same time period.

I know.

Unlike Martha's journey into advanced poufiness, my hair took a turn down the road to limp and lifeless. The mullet remains, but the length has been reduced. My face reveals my own true feelings about the flatness.

That summer, I saw and fell in love with "The Legend of Billie Jean" and was channeling a pre-crack Whitney when I cut off the last bit of mullet. I feel it's fair to mention here that what you cannot see in these shorter hair pictures is the foot long tail in the back. A blond one. I know.

Later, in a lame attempt to disguise my so-short locks, I turned to hats. Ok, I just love hats, whatever.

For my junior year, I rejoined the ranks of pouf. Unfortunately, it was all over pouf and ended up rivaling a 60's bouffant.

Those last two photos also feature my cousin/best friend growing up. Because I believe humiliation is a dish best served family-style. Here we are with sweat-pasted-to-our-head-locks. You have to use your imagination a little bit.

Sometime after taking my senior pictures

in the summer before my senior year, I went through a keepitinaponytailallthetime growing out phase.

Fortunately, my hair grows quickly. Witness the growth capacity.

Junior prom Senior prom

So there you have it. It was the 80's y'all. What can I say?

Random thoughts on men

2006-07-31T14:12:00.000-07:00

What is it with men and motorcycles anyway? They seem inevitably drawn to motorcycles like moths to a flame. I'm not saying all men, because I hate to generalize, but damn near all of them in my experience. If they don't own one, they want to. At the very least, they stare longingly at every one that drives by. When riding, the riders silently nod to one another like they are in some secret brotherhood or something. "I love bikes and so do you. In solidarity, brother." I mean, I like motorcycles and the feeling of wind in my face as we glide down the street. I get that. But we are talking about an almost "lusty" relationship between men and motorcycles. I'm thinking it's a dick thing. What else could it be?

Why do they think farting is cute? I honestly don't get this one either. Again, I can't generalize, because my dad thinks breaking wind is downright gross. But most guys seem fascinated and amused by their own flatulence. And think we are equally so.

Why do they seem to always notice me when I look like crap? This one really boggles my mind. I don't exactly look like "crap" today, but I'm certainly not looking special. And yet a countless number of men stared into my car this morning like they were sex-starved prisoners and I was the first woman they'd seen in years. I seriously felt like pulling over and seeing if there was a sign on the back of my car that said, "Smile for a free ride" or something. I wish I could say it picked up my self esteem, but I'm still feeling rather pudgy and uncute this afternoon.

Style is all relative

2006-07-28T20:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Martha Kimes,

I think we went to the same stylist in high school.

Sincerely,
Your sister in mulletude

P.S. Scarier still? The girl in this photo?
Is wearing my hat.

Cheer up! Things are getting worse at a slower rate

2006-07-28T08:57:00.000-07:00

I've been reading Self Matters by Dr. Phil this week. It's hard to find time for reading anymore, something that I used to do religiously. Most of the stuff I read is fluff, I admit it. Mystery novels, horror stories, a little adventure, sometimes romantic novels with a historical background, conspiracy theories. Lately, my reading has devolved from fluff to outright crap. US Weekly, People Magazine and the like. Hey, it's all I have time for! And that's usually on the toilet :)

But, I'm basically in such a bad place right now mentally that I need all the help I can get, including that which comes in the form of self help books written by t.v. talk show hosts.

I've not historically been a big Dr. Phil fan. In fact, I only recently started watching his shows at all. I was an Oprah fan back in the day. And I'm talking waaaay back in the day. Like wearing-size-10's-with-a-black-turtle-neck-gigantic-head-and-pulling-a-red-wagon-full-of-fat back in the day. But, I've come back into Oprah's fold and began to wonder why I ever left it. I think it's because watching all the stories of strong women and women who are not so strong but really want to be, made me realize that I fall into the latter category. And it was just too painful to watch. So I shunned Oprah. I'm sorry O. I'm sorry me.

Dr. Phil was a similar story. Since I wasn't actively watching Oprah during Dr. Phil's heyday there, I really had no reason to think he was all bomb diggety like some of my friends did. And when he got his own show, again, too painful to watch. Why would I want to watch some couple revealing horrible relationship flaws and trying to fix them? So I would have to consider my own? No thanks. Not for me.

But lately, I haven't been able to hide. And facing certain demons seems inevitable. So, I've given Dr. Phil an inch. And he has taken a mile.

This book I'm reading is really good shit. I picked it up off of my mom's bookshelf thinking that I need a good book about getting back my self esteem. Mom belongs to several book clubs and keeps the books whether she ordered them or not.

So far, and I'm only on the 2nd chapter or something, this books main focus is "getting back to your authentic self". At one point, the good doctor talks about remembering a time in your life when you were the happiest you've ever been, when you were the most real. A time when your life "flowed with energy and excitement", when you were "free from self doubt" and had "an unshakeable understanding of your own self worth". And on and on. So here we are, right in the beginning of the search for my authentic self and already I'm thinking, "Crap, I don't have an authentic self". Cause I don't remember any of those things he's talking about. Even as a child, I doubted my self worth. The farther I thought back, the more I realized that even my earliest memories are filled with self doubt and self hatred.

Which brings us to last night. The kids and I went swimming around 9 p.m. I've been enjoying a little night swimming with all this heat we've been having lately and the kids have been upset about it because they want to swim with me. I just can't bring myself to do it most afternoons. And when I swim at night, I prefer to do it alone. Soo much more relaxing that way. But last night, I gave in and the whole bunch of us went swimming (minus Bookem, who is an eternal stick in the mud).

Part of what I don't like about swimming with the kids, particularly in a pool as small as ours (only 5 ft. at the deep end), is I'm constantly getting splashed in the face, climbed on and called to. "Mom! Look!", "Mom! Watch me!", "Mom! Can you do this?" Sigh.

So, last night, I'm standing in the middle of the pool, holding onto Scooby's little ladybug floatie, and forcing myself to watch yet another completely fascinating leap from the edge of the pool by Queenie. A somewhat modified dive this time since the pool is so shallow.

And it hits me.

When I was Queenie's age, or there abouts, I can remember standing on the edge of the pool, feeling totally confidant in my body and it's ability to be athletic and graceful and beautiful. I was full of excitement and joy and laughter then. Maybe not all the time. But in those certain moments when I was swimming or doing gymnastics or dancing. I was proud of myself. I didn't feel self doubt. I was a sun-kissed goddess. I remember that feeling now. I see it in Queenie every day.

Now, Dr. Phil, where do I go from here? I can't wait to find out.

The Queen has spoken

2006-07-25T07:07:00.000-07:00

Queenie to her Dad at the dinner table: "Dad, boys may be in charge, but girls take charge."

Love that girl :)

Not all mimes are bad

2006-07-21T12:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday must have been my lucky day. Well, except for the part where I left work early, spent an hour wandering around Winco, selecting a random assortment of groceries, standing in line and then remembering, as the last item was rung, that they don't take credit cards. Which, of course, was all I had on me. Fuck.

So, after spending another 30 minutes or so at Foods Co, which thankfully does take credit, I decided to take a quick pass through the Red Carpet Ride and Shine. $4.99 for a pretty decent, fairly quick, wash & dry? Can't beat it with a stick.

And my car was hideously filthy. I park basically butted up to a field of dry-ass dirt every day at work. And for the past few weeks at least, the field has been occupied by a few hundred sheep (wth did they come from?). My car looks like I've driven through a dust-bowl on a regular basis. I don't get too uppity about washing it because, really, why bother? It's going to be filthy again by tonight, watch. But, honestly, I couldn't hardly see out the windows anymore, so there you go.

So, I ride through the quicky wash, eating a Twix bar on the DL (damn my diet all to hell). When I get to the end part, the little teenie-bopper-candy-striper-look-a-like girls come out with their towels and air blowers and commence to drying the car. One girl goes to pull up my driver's side windshield wiper to presumably dry underneath it and the friggen thing comes off in her hand! Just the blade, not the whole wiper arm or anything. I see the panic in her eyes through the windshield, but I'm not overly freaked out at this point.

She tries to put it back on, to no avail. So she calls over some random guy who is stooping down on the other side of the car wash working on(?) some equipment. He tries to fix it, to no avail. When my car finally reaches the end of the conveyor, they motion for me to pull forward a little, then stop. So I do. The random guy gets a supervisor-woman to come over and look. I know she's a supervisor cause her shirt says so. She motions for me to just "hold on" and goes over to the side and calls someone from the big phone on a stick standing in the corner. Then she motions for me to follow her.

Out of the wash and around the corner we go, with me following her in my car at 2 miles an hour like she's walking the Hondaloosa on a leash. Park right here and wait, she pantomimes. So I do.

Out comes handy-guy, who also tries to fix the wiper, to no avail. Be right back, says the new mime. When he comes back he has a brand new wiper blade for me. It took several attempts to get it on securely after which it took me several attempts to "get it" when he pantomimed the command to turn on my wipers to make sure they work. But, I eventually figured it out. And they worked. I was secretly hoping that he would just replace the other one too, because these things come in 2-packs, no? But, alas, that did not happen. It was all too clear when he picked up the old wiper and empty packaging and motioned a little good-bye wave.

This was a lucky turn of events for me because my wiper blade needed changing badly and my Honda probably forced it off in a desperate attempt for attention. I just couldn't stop laughing at how the entire exchange took place without a word between me and my benefactors.

Of course, I was talking to myself in the car to combat the deafening silence. I'm just saying.

The real me

2006-07-20T10:37:00.000-07:00

I talk to myself. There. I've said it. The cat is out of the proverbial bag.

Not that it comes as any surprise to those who know me well. I've always been one to chat myself up. I've caught myself doing it in the shower, on the freeway, walking between my office and car, while shopping, while putting on make-up, while cleaning house (yes, I occasionally clean house), etc. And yet, those who love me and know me best will still walk into a room, eyes shifting from left to right under a furrowed brow and ask, "Uhhhhhhh, who are you talking to?" Often followed up by, "Why do you do always that?"

I explained to Queenie in a recent conversation that it's totally subconscious and that I am usually just working something out in my head. The more audible my conversation, the more passionate I am about the subject matter (i.e. the more pissed I am) . If I'm just talking out some lovely fantasy, like winning millions in the lottery, I pretty much just move my lips. If I'm really excited about it, I might actually progress into a hint of a whisper. If I'm in a rage, like for example when my husband does the 50th moronic thing in a week, I'll go from a full out whisper to actually talking.out.loud. Which can be embarassing since I normally can't even repeat what I've just said if I'm caught in the act. It's out of my head that fast. So, if someone walks in on me, and I realize I've been speaking my thoughts out loud, for the life of me I have no idea whether I've said something horrible or incriminating or what.

On a related tangent, Queenie informed me recently that my grammar and coherent sentence structure directly correlates to how pissed I am. The more angry and flustered I am, apparently, the worse my grammar and the more likely I am to misplace words or word meanings within a sentence. Go figure.

So now she says things to me like, "So, have you got that 'all worked out in your head'?" Or, "I know you're not really mad at me, your grammar was perfect."

Little shit.

And since I'm making admissions, I'm also a car dancer. And singer. In this instance, according to those who know and love me, how well I do these things is directly proportional to the number of drinks I've had. Not that it takes a drink stronger than coffee to get me going. But, that's a story for another day.

Fear and Loathing in Fresno

2006-07-10T10:14:00.000-07:00

A strange phenomenon occurred some 15 years ago. Somehow, during the process of becoming pregnant with my oldest child, I was also implanted with another seed. The seed of fear.

I realized even then that something had changed. I was afraid for my own safety in a way I never had been before. I saw danger in everything. Climbing the stairs, driving too fast, eating food too far past it's expiration date. I assume that it's natural for any mother to have fears surrounding the safety of her child, even beginning with the knowledge of conception. But, I'm talking about fear for myself, not fear for my child. Of course, I have that. I have a seemingly bottomless well of horrifying images of things that "could" happen to one of my babies. I try not to drink of that dark water, but it's there, nonetheless.

What brought this to mind recently was a simple trip to the movies Friday night. Bookem took me to see The Devil Wears Prada, much to my surprise. I read the book, so I was excited to see it, but was completely taken aback that he 1) wanted to see it too and 2) wanted to see it enough to forego both Superman Returns and The Pirates of the Caribbean sequel. Wonders never cease.

He invited another couple to join us at the last minute. These are new friends of ours. He met the husband through a mutual friend of theirs and we had them over for dinner some time back so I could meet the little woman. The thing that bonds these two men? Motorcycle Love. Not as fun as Monkey Love, but more appropriate for two men, I suppose.

So, I really shouldn't have been surprised that transportation on our double date was to be provided by "the bikes". Now, I grew up riding on the back of my Daddy's motorcycle. And I loved, loved, loved it. I can remember begging him, in what I now realize was an insufferable way, to pleeeeeease take me for a ride whenever we spent the weekend at his house. I also remember how much my mom hated that thing and hearing that I'd been out riding again. A pain I fully understand now that Bookem has taken Queenie to the store on the back of that thing twice now.

What did surprise me was how scared I was. I was never scared holding on to my Daddy's shirt tails, wind whipping in my face, screaming "faster, faster!" Now, all I could think about was what would happen to my kids if something happened to me. And how if something happened, it would be something totally horrific. Because motorcycle accidents rarely turn out well for the passenger. Or the driver, for that matter. Especially on the highway.

I considered that I was scared because I just don't trust Bookem all that much. He doesn't have a ton of motorcycle experience under his belt yet, although you won't hear him telling it that way. And he did just dump another bike a little over six months ago and dislocate his own shoulder. But, really, that's not it. It has to do with my fear of leaving my children on their own and it began the day I got pregnant with Pokeboy. I think about bad things happening to me in my car, in my house, at my job, with my health, etc. It's not a certain set of circumstances that causes it. It just is.

I guess with the motorcycle, the feeling is just amplified because I really have no control over the situation. And situations where I'm not "at the wheel" of my own destiny bus really freak my shit.

One Flu Over the Cuckoos Nest

2006-07-08T21:29:00.000-07:00

The flu sucks rocks. Ask me how I know.

What sucks more, is when the 4th of July is like mid-year Christmas to the men in your family and the super, groovy holiday bash is at your house this year. I sooo was not really looking forward to it this year anyway, for one reason or another. But when Monday came and I started developing a nasty case of faucet ass with a side order of nausea, I knew we were in trouble. What's worse is that Queenie woke up feeling the same way and she is my number one best worker around here. I did the running around I had planned, I even cleaned up a little and potted 4 or 5 plants for the patio. Mom was supposed to come over and help me, but she ended up getting a touch of the bug herself. By Tuesday morning, I knew big man was going to be on his own in terms of party prep and hosting. And that? Is a scary thing.

Fortunately, both Queenie and my mother had recovered by the morning of the 4th. I busted my ass to help out, including folding and putting away several loads of laundry. By the time the guests arrived, I was lounging on the couch, which is where I spent most of the day, leaving the guests to enjoy the barbecue and swimming in the back yard.

The fireworks were awesome. Scooby was decidedly unimpressed, but she didn't cry, just reached for her siblings. Apparently I can't protect her when it comes to projectile fireballs in the sky. But Queenie and Pokeboy had the right stuff. She fell asleep in Queenie's lap. I excused myself about halfway through and went to bed. And actually slept, even with all the noise in the front yard.

Thankfully, I woke up to a fairly clean kitchen and yard. Party guests must have taken pity on me and cleaned up before leaving, because there is no way in HELL my husband was that thoughtful.

I'm still not back to normal, 5 days later. I'm back to eating, and sadly the 5 pounds that fell off due to not eating is already back. But, something just isn't "right". Hopefully, a few more days and all will be well. I need to get back in the gym.

Things that make you go hmmmm...

2006-06-29T09:38:00.000-07:00

Ever notice how some people at the gym are just "bouncier" than others when using the cardio equipment? It's a point my cousin and I have been pondering lately while using the various torture devices behind the rows of cardio machines. A couple of days ago, we encountered the bounciest we've seen, a young woman using a machine that is some type of elliptical/stair-climber mixed breed. Bounce, bounce, bounce went her ponytail. And everything else. Fortunately, she was a trim gal and the jiggle was fairly minimal from the rear view. Is that why she was so bouncy? Was she just perky because she thinks it's cute? Or was she trying to outrun her thong? Questions like these plague me.

In other news, I took Stanky to see the movie "Cars" yesterday, just her and me. Queenie had a date to go skating with a friend and Pokeboy has pretty much seen friends at least once a week since summer vacation commenced. But poor, poor Stanky has been cooped up in the house and catching a bad case of cabin fever. It was nice to have the one on one time with her. She really enjoyed the movie and so did I.

Although, I could have done without the constant questions. "Mom, are we almost there?" That one came at a rate of once every 2 minutes. I was remarkably patient, if I do say so myself. Another benefit of one on one time - no tag teaming = more Mom patience. "Is it getting ready to start?" "Is this the movie?" "Why isn't it starting?" "Is it almost over?" "Why is everybody sad?" "What's wrong with him?" "Who's that guy?"

I realize that I profess to be all-knowing pretty regularly, but seriously, she believes me?

And they're off!

2006-06-27T09:01:00.000-07:00

While working out at the gym yesterday, sitting at the tricep torture device, I caught my profile in the mirror wall (aka, The Wall of Shame) and realized that for the first time in a painfully long while, my boobs actually stuck out farther than my bellay. While sitting.down.even.

To be fair, my belly hasn't actually stuck out farther than my boobs since I was carrying one of the wee babes in there. But it's probably safe to say that they've been running neck in neck in some kind of unholy race since the birth of my last child and, particularly while sitting, the belly has been gaining ground at a frightening pace. I should probably mention, in the interest of honesty, that the boobs were a little engorged last night since I rushed off to the gym without nursing Scooby and pumping during the day is a thing of the past. But, even so. I'll take victory where I can get it.

My cousin said that my aunt noticed I've lost some weight on the back end. Tonight, glute work.

Move over Mama Rose

2006-06-26T14:26:00.000-07:00

From day one, I knew that my little Queenie was down with the drama. Commencing the moment she burst from my loins (that's another story, y'all), she began to wail dramatically and to continue with this wailing for a good, solid 60-90 minutes. I've got it on video, natch. And it's been nothing but drama ever since.

It really shouldn't come as any surprise that Stanky has followed suit. Particularly when I look back at videos of her early months, starring a dancing, twirling, gyrating Queenie and co-starring a tiny, studious, on-looking Stanky. I say studious because I think she literally studied every.last.move, technique, tear and dance move that Queenie staged from the moment she could focus.

Stanky taught me an important lesson early on. I don't know nothing from drama. If Queenie is the Drama Queen of the house, Stanky must be some kind of Drama Overlord. I actually fear the Scooby-drama in my future. She is shaping up to be her sisters-squared (to the Nth power).

How do I manage to survive in this house of histrionics, you want to know? I do what any smart, self-respecting mother would do. Try to squeeze a buck out of it somehow.

Not immediately, of course, I'm not going to sell them to the gypsies, despite my threats to do exactly that. No. This is all about investing in the future. So I signed them up for Children's Theater. Stanky's gonna need stage experience to be the self-proclaimed "rock star" that she plans to be. And, I mean, let's be realistic, as cute as they are, these kids aren't likely to be discovered walking down the streets of The No.

Behold the cuteness:

So. Children's Theater. A few hundred bucks and hours and hours of rehearsals later, they had their stage debut last week. Can I just say fan.fuckin.tabulous? My kids, that is. I didn't really pay much attention to the parts of the play my kids weren't in. As flighty as that sounds, it was very difficult since I had a teething, talking, tantrum-esque toddler in my lap. At some point, I had to actually leave my seat and walk around with her, but that's neither here nor there.

Back to the girls. I don't see why this should be surprising to me in the slightest since I see them perform every.single.day. In front of the big screen tv. That isn't quite big enough when a 5 year old and 10 year old are dancing right in front of it. And yet, it was surprising. Because they are kids after all. And, also, I didn't watch rehearsals. I had to stop that early on in the process because Mama Rose? Has nothin' on me. Fortunately, I was able to see how destructive my presence was to Queenie's creative process, so I used those hours every week to spend alone time with Scooby and let the chips fall where they may.

It was a good decision. Stanky delivered her two lines ("What a geek. Destructo boy!") loudly and with unbelievable clarity, looking directly at the audience. Queenie had significantly more lines and stole scenes she was in even when she didn't speak. That's my girl(s)!

I imagine this will be only the beginning for Queenie, who will likely audition for the company's production of Pocahontas next month. I don't know about Stanky. Her whining about having to go to rehearsal and deciding to quit the play every other week was draining. She may have to wait until she's a little older before I resume grooming her to be my eventual gravy train. On the other hand, what's a Diva-in-training to do if not act a little diva-ish?

No sooner said

2006-06-22T08:25:00.000-07:00

Mama. That's right. After having written that last blog entry yesterday, Scooby said the magic word. She was standing at the base of the chair I was sitting in and wanting up. I said "Mama?", she nodded her head and repeated, "Mama". Just like that.

Perhaps if I write about it in my blog, it will be so! Yeah, if only that were true.

"My husband is a prince, my husband is a prince, my husband is a prince..."

I'll let you know how that turns out.

*Tip: Holding your breath for extended periods of time may lead to brain damage. Don't do it.

Mama, you're my everything

2006-06-21T11:53:00.000-07:00

My youngest, Scooby, is definitely a mama's girl. Wherever I am, that's where she wants to be. Particularly since I carry around the milk jugs on the front of my body. Yes, that's right, I'm still nursing her at 14 months, a day I never thought I'd see. And I can't say right now if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

But as important as I obviously am to this small child, she refuses to say my name. "Thank you" - check. "Yeah" - check. Siblings names - check. "Mama" - no fucking way. She's not a stupid baby. She's just stubborn as all hell. I can even get her on a roll repeating the things I say. We're working on "more" and "out" (of the high chair) for example, but when I roll around to Mama, she starts looking at other things in the room and pretending that we weren't just having a conversation right now.

Little shit.

I should start withholding the boob until she acts right. But, of course, that doesn't even work on her father, so I'm probably best to not go there.

When thanks is not enough

2006-06-21T00:23:00.000-07:00

Stanky is big on prayers. Many a night our dinner is parlayed while we wait for Stank to pray over our meal. Tonight's prayer was not unique, by any means.

Stanky: "Dear God, thank you for our food tonight. I love you. You are sooo sweet and nice and kind. Thank you for all of your kindness. Amen."

In keeping with the theory that God is a man, it always helps to boost that ego when saying ones dinner prayers, wouldn't you agree?

Off to an incredible start

2006-06-19T12:56:00.000-07:00

Ok, that's a bit of an embellishment. I'm not exactly bursting with new blogging material. But, I swear, I am going to try my level best to put up a consistent, if not entertaining, blog this time. Really.

The fact that I am regularly attending the gym again should lead to some good blog fodder, if nothing else. And the children in my life are a constant source of entertainment. It's only fair that I share.

And, listen up folks, I am a huge, HUGE reality tv fan. Is there any better snark material available in the world today than reality tv? Current political leaders aside.

I'll be back when I have something interesting to say. Or tomorrow. Whichever comes first.

Testing, testing

2006-06-19T12:01:00.000-07:00

This is a random, sample post. More fascinating verbage to follow. /test