I love not camping...

picture courtesy of Anne Taintor

I imagine myself a camper akin to how I imagine myself a runner. I have all the gear: running shoes, a jogging bra, and ipod with suggested "running" tunes and in one brief moment in time I could keep a 11 min/mile pace(not an inch more without throwing up, six miles, max)...Therefore in my head I am a runner.

I tell myself I am a runner, not a walker but a runner. And this is true until I lace up my shoes in the present day, attempt to run around the block only to be woken up with a booger covered four year old's finger poking at my chest because I took a rest at the neighborhood playground and later passed out some where around mile two. But dammit I am a runner.

The same goes for camping...I camp therefore I am a "camper" (pardon my terminology but at a loss for another term for a camper.) Anyway, we have an eight person tent (large enough for me to Zumba in), an air mattress, sleeping bags, lanterns, a hammock and a couple of flannel shirts to play the part. I definitely l-o-v-e the idea of camping like I love the idea of running. And yes, I can survive in the rugged outdoors for a night, eating hot dogs gently coated with sand and smelling somewhere between a hamster cage and my favorite BBQ joint. And if the truth be told, I don't mind the bugs and dirt, the food and the sticky sap that gets just about everywhere, the 1/2 mile walk to the bathroom, or the constant boredom. So that would make me a camper, right? But here is my question and maybe the one thing that distinguishes me from the rest. These camping folks, do they ever worry? I mean r-e-a-l-l-y worry, because I worry all the time while camping. And no matter how much I try to fake my outdoorsmanship I cannot get over the constant reoccurring thoughts of:

The 6ft bear that is lurking behind the pine tree ready for me to turn my back so it can drag my child off into its torturous den, but not before ripping off our faces.

Or the 10ft giant rattlesnake hidden in the pine straw that is napping waiting to strike my husband's ankle...and I am not freakin prepared to cut an X over it with a knife and suck the poison out.

Or the rabid five fingered raccoons that are dexterous enough to open up a cooler and steal my marinated chicken tenders, and later mistake my toes for tenders.

Or that pack of twelve coyotes that are hiding out in the glen waiting for us to close our eyes so that they can pounce our tent and bite off our noses and finger tips.

And the worse of all worse cases the idea that Jason Voorhees and Leatherface have shacked up together in a cozy two bedroom cabin up the hill and they will be combing the area at sundown looking for someone wearing flannel to join their ménage à trois.

A runner- maybe, child of the eighties- definitely, camper- yeah not so much.

Because I would rather post this video here than on FB...

Holocaust survivor defends disco dance. A viral video of Adolek Kohn dancing to "I Will Survive" at Auschwitz stirs international controversy.

I found this video today on Yahoo. It seems people are up in arms about Kohn's "method" of educating today's youth on the Holocaust.

Me, well I think he can do whatever the F**K he wants...you rock it Adolek!!!

I'm Back...

Before I go into my "this is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard rant." I wanted to just say hello, sorry I have been gone, but I set out to change a couple of things up in this place. And in true me fashion, I was not surprised when I left for the store to buy a pair of flip flops and came back with a dozen sparkly stilettos. Some may call it obsessive, some compulsive, I call it a itty bitty mid-life hiccup, OK maybe a little more stinky, let's say a burp but a good garlicky burp after eating shrimp scampi with garlic toast.

So that brings me to this article that I found online yesterday, well that is if you go back to the shoes segway, not the garlic burp. Anyhow it states:

High Heels, Flip Flops, And Ballet Flats Are Apparently No-Nos For Pregnant Women

A recent report from BBC News says that expectant mothers need much more support than they're getting from footwear like ballet flats, flip flops, and high heels. The Society of Chiropodists and Podiatrists polled 1,000 pregnant women and found that many regularly wore all three non-supportive styles, despite complaints of swollen ankles (37%), swollen feet (45%) and arch and heel pain (16%) while pregnant. "The society is urging women to wear supportive, wide fitting shoes to minimize discomfort and avoid long-term damage," the BBC report says.

Whuck? Are you kidding me? There are so many things wrong with this statement. First and the most obvious, the only reason someone should be wearing tennis shoes is if they are going to workout, aspire to workout or want someone to think that they have plans to work out sometime during the day.

Now I have only been prego twice- both times in the summer, but I can honestly say that the last thing I would consider wearing was A PAIR Of SOCKS let alone a pair of sneakers. And supportive shoes I don't even know what those are? If you can't wear flats or flops or heels what does that leave? Brown nurse shoes, I mean even if you bedazzle the hell out of them, they are brown fake leather shoes with spongy heels. And just how is one to tie these supportive shoes with a NBA sized basketball protruding out of ones stomach? My two cents, call it quits, girlfriend, if you have to ask assistance from the lady with the helmet hair and lavendar sensible sweater set in Payless during the annual BOGO sale to assist you as you force your swollen elephant ankle in a pair of "supportive shoes."

So I say we definitely discard this information as false and you pregnant women rock out your flip flops and your stilettos. Because a failed arch is much better than looking like a beached whale in tight sneakers with ultra large cankles hanging over your constricted socks, now red faced because the heat is only allowed to escape from your oversized oven is only from your head. Either that or just go barefoot for goodness sake.

I blame it on Columbia...

The past nine months in my quest for the holy grail, otherwise known as friendship, I have had to (and sometimes painfully) endure PTA meetings, book clubs, "intimate" parties, Bunco, step classes, boot camp classes, socials and the like, because you know what...peeps were NOT knocking down my door. And that was fine because I knew if I worked hard and kept true to myself, I would find great bunch of gals, and a tribe to call my own. And in these past couple of months I think I finally found them. However I found much, much more.

Wedged in between the coffee meet ups and wine nights, I took a right when I should have veered left at the coconut palm in the middle of the road and I stumbled, no fell face first into ZUMBA and what a difference that has made, I will write more about Zumba in the near future.

But it is his shoulders where I place most of the blame for my absence from blogging.

I will be back...once my feet slow down.

Conversations...

Those who know me may be surprised to hear this...but some days the highlight of my day is picking up the kids from the elementary school in our carpool. I know, I know spending twenty minutes with six screaming kids in a 5x10 tin can, I mean minivan, can be overwhelming after a day of alone well cultured bliss. But after day of said peace every once in a while I can really use some kid-friendly belly giggles. I mostly enjoy that their little lives are so simple yet their stories about their school day can be so exciting. I mean seriously, besides the tough question these kids face each morning: pack a cold lunch or go for the ever popular (mystery) meat ball sub, life doesn't get any more elementary.

So today, Mac plops into the front seat of the super-van, the gaggle of kids follow slowly behind her. Once settled I see a blue folded note hanging out of her pocket. I gently grab it knowing full well this could get ugly and at any time she is going to rake it out of my hands, start crying and turn bright fuchsia from embarrassment. Did I successfully score the first "love note" of her elementary career? Hell, it is her fault she kept it in such a conspicuous place.

However she doesn't stop me and instead a cheesy grin washes over her face. I realize that I have stumbled head first into her trap. This so called love note was instead a website that you log on to adopt orangutans...yes ORANGUTANS. So we spoke in great deal the remainder of the drive, how not only can you adopt orangutans, but you can also adopt blue whales, gorilla and even a star if you want.

Maybe it is the car that holds the magical key when it comes to a good conversation. For starters there is nothing like having a captured audience myself included. At least in the car I actually listen to what others are saying. Unlike my normal life when I am trying to do ten things at once. Be it a gaggle of kids or our modest family of four car conversations are just that "conversations".

Come to think of it,some of our most meaty conversations have been in the car. We have addressed religion, our beliefs or disbelief (based on who you ask)in ghosts & UFOs, racism and even life choices. Admittedly, I have even considered having the birds and bees talk with Mac from the front seat of my mini-van. Just look at the pros: automatic door locks (no escape), limited eye contact (most of the conversation can be via the rear view mirror), and for learning aids I can utilize the side mirror being sure to explain that images in mirror are actually "larger than appear to be". Plus I can actually use my lap for my written notes and no one will be the wiser. As for cons: I really don't see any.

I mean Seriously, Why Can't I?

No really...

On the heels of my last post...which I know was completely out there, here was my real week...

Thursday- checked into the Gaylord Opryland Hotel, enjoyed a mojito while reading a book on the "rotating lounge" although at the time I did not notice it was rotating. Not sure how one does not notice they are stepping on to a "rotating bar", maybe it was the excitement of being childless for the weekend. All I know is one minute I was looking over the lobby, the next minute staring at a waterfall. However, fast forward to today, and that bar is 10 feet under water due to the floods in Nashville.


Thursday night- Enjoyed a wonderful steak dinner "ON" the Opryland Stage a few feet away from where Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline were discovered.


Friday- Pulled up in a cab to the Hutton Hotel to see the comedian Sinbad leaving the hotel and getting into his Hummer.


Saturday- Forced to spend the majority of the day in Wild Horse Saloon, due to tornado sirens and warnings.


Saturday night- Last minute took advantage of FREE tickets to Jimmy Buffet, show started at 8pm, I was asked to go at 7:20pm.


Sunday- Evacuated from Nashville due to the floods.


Tuesday- Invited to dinner at a Four Star General's House


Now which story is easier to believe?

I have an excuse...

You would not believe the couple of weeks I have had...

It all began last Tuesday when I went on a run and was forced to take a detour through our neighborhood park and off the safety of the sidewalk. It was dusk, I became disoriented, and as a result I stumbled over a stump and fell head first into a fox hole.

Three days later, I woke up to a naked mole rat standing on my chest with a terrible overbite, dressed in a tuxedo. After force feeding me Kobe steak and red wine he led me by his minuscule hand or maybe it was a paw, to meet the soulful and smooth talking wizard who looked a lot like Samuel L. Jackson wearing a Kangol top hat. Sam informed me that I was the champion, aka "chick in the hot pink velour sweats", and the land of Odd had been awaiting my arrival. I was scheduled to fight the Jabawockawitch in a fortnight using just my bare hands and a spatula.

So of course, I have a good excuse for ignoring my blog these past couple of weeks. Hey, I was in training.

P.S. And if you are wondering I kicked the Jabawockawitch's ass, brought home her head, cooked it in a crock pot on low and served it over some egg noodles with a side of steamed broccoli.

P.P.S No I haven't lost my mind, but isn't a blog fun?

I mean Seriously, Why Can't I?

50 People, 1 Question...

Found this on YouTube....

Where would you want to wake up tomorrow if you had a choice?

Floods vs. Fashion...

Growth spurts, you never know when they are going to hit. Or maybe you do and you choose ignorance over style because you are way too busy or just flat out too lazy to go out and buy some new clothes for the kiddos. And then one morning it is 8:05am and you realize this may be a really bad idea as your daughter is jumping from the bed into a pair of jeans that once buttoned are three inches to short. And although stretching out a cotton t-shirt is a pretty easy feat, stretching the length of a pair of size five jeans to fit a size six body with long legs is almost impossible. You think back, OK the pair she wore on Monday fit well but after a frustrating hunt through the bedroom jungle (it's now 8:15am) you do find them but they are crumbled into a ball, hidden in the back corner under the bed and covered with dried spaghetti sauce.

You take a step back and say aloud, "hey, these jeans are cool, they make great capris." Because your daughter is six going on eleven and is not only picky but she is so over Dora, a borderline fan of Hannah Montana and thinks that the seventeen year old cashier at Wal-Mart is "hot" and going to school looking anything other than "put together" is not an option.

Fast forward to 8:25am and now you are watching your child walk across the schoolyard in her confident, "floods", and into the Kindergarten doors. You realize that she reminds you of that one kid you had in every one of your classes through 5th grade that wore hammy down clothes that were always to small, crooked bangs because they cut them themselves and always had a dried dirt mustache over their top lip.

Time to go shopping...

Out of the mouths of babes...

Highlight on Cheese...

At the kitchen table at breakfast, out of COMPLETE nowhere,

"Mom, if you get fat I will still love you."

Me: Well let's hope honey you never have to make that choice. As I am eating oreo cookie ice cream out of the container.

Still at the table, "Also if I ever get a step mom, I will love you more because you will be my real mom."

Whuck?

And later in the car after school, she was looking outside at the clouds. Admittedly, they were fluffy and perfect for any little person's imagination.

Me: "What do you see Cheese?"

"I see a dinosaur jumping from cloud to cloud, a bunny in a tutu and a turtle waving at me."

Tribute to National Poetry Month...

I dread this morning,
Wheels glide and then stick along the dirty linoleum floor.
Perfectly lined cereal boxes adorn the aisles,
whilst athletes and cartoon charters beckon me to take them home.
The smell of orange and raw meat lingers in the frigid air.
And I cock my head to hear "Jungle Love" over the speakers, I smile and tap my toes.
Looks like this day may get better after all.

I round the corner, enter the seasoning aisle, sneeze fifteen times and pee my pants.

Seriously?

You never know what you will find...

School photos, taken as a way to document your child's growth progress from one year to another, and most recently to document those subtle changes every four months as they are now taken twice a calendar school year. Like I need any more pictures of my kids, I see them ALL THE TIME.

However, if you are like me after you divide up these pictures for your family (in my case unfairly, as someone always gets the shaft and a 5x7 instead of a 8x10, because the people at Lifetouch don't account for divorce) and we grab our two wallets and one for the frig, the rest are shoved into the kitchen drawer with the left over post-it notes that have lost their "post" and the pens that nobody throws away but ran out of ink in 1999.

Maybe it is because I love take so many pics of the girls that I don't put a lot of care or effort in the storage of the remaining 45 wallet photos and one left over 5x7 that no one wants. In fact, I rarely put these photos into frames and they just stay on the refrigerator for the year until they are replaced with the following year's photo.

But if I did place these in frames and five years from now I wanted to donate those picture frames to GoodWill, I think I would have the sense to take the pictures out first. Unlike this family, I found these at the GoodWill the other day and although I felt like an ass taking pictures of the pictures with my phone I had to share the stupidity...this one to me says, "We love you honey, but we just couldn't bother taking out your 5th grade picture before shoving this frame into a box with Dad's old boxing gloves, Mom's cross stiched "Home Sweet Home" Pillow and your brother's old sneakers.

And this one too...

Whuck? I got nothing.

Things Rosetta Stone could not teach me...

Hola amigos, we have returned from our wonderful Mexico vacation and other than the upper G.I. infection, the road rash from falling down in the street after one too many tequila shots and the temporary weight loss (which I see now is very short lived..the weight loss I mean, because the rash still rages along with the unsettled stomach). So I guess for the most part we are unscathed. I will share some stories from our trip in the near future, but for now I thought I would just put together a list of things that I learned while traveling abroad, things that Rosetta Stone forgot to mention.

1. First, the only people who actually say "no" in Mexico are Americans. Mexicans are constantly saying "si". Hey, taxi driver, can we stop here and grab a bottle of tequila for the road? "Si". Hey, tour bus operator, can you stop here so we can get out real quick and buy some cerveza and groceries? "Si". Hey captain, while don't you pull this boat over to that boat over there, it looks like they have beer to share.

We, on the other hand we are constantly saying "no". Senorita, do you want to buy a silver plated bracelet for a dollar, "no". Senorita, do you want your hair braided, "no gracias". Senorita how would you like to buy a grain of rice with your name on it, "no gracias", a bracelet with your name on it, "no gracias", a tattoo with your name on it, "no gracias".

2. I learned in Mexico that they DO in fact, know the difference between "on the rocks" and "frozen", and what a relief that was. Well actually, bittersweet, as that was the primary reason I bought my Spanish/ English key chain dictionary.

3. I realized that the only person that DO NOT benefit from a three bedroom villa is... the maid.

4. I realized that if part of your boob is hanging out of your towel while you are getting a facial at a fancy spa, best thing is to not reach down to fix it.

5. I learned that you can never get tired of re fried beans and tortilla chips.

6. I learned that drivers in Mazatlan must be really safe drivers because they have no seat belts and carry around their children on their laps while in the front seat.

7. I learned that the most dangerous part of a banana boat ride is actually getting on the banana and then getting off.

8. We learned that "you break it you buy it" is as serious as it sounds.

9. And lastly, some Spanish to English translations just are worth printing on your menu. Especially when dealing with snack fish or "Very good littled boys breaded."

It got a little crazy here again...

So I am going to Mexico next week (no we are not going to make a taco run in Tijuana (although they have great tacos there) or we are not going to buy pottery in Nuevo Laredo) so don't worry about us. We are heading south to Mazatlan, which is completely safe from what I "choose" to read online which is travel sites with last updates in 2009. Because it would totally suck to get caught up in some kidnapping/ extortion plot while shopping for maracas, WWE wrestling masks and souvenir t-shirts and that say "one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor".

My point is instead of writing a couple of posts I thought I would offer a brief recap of this past week and what you missed if you were not living here at the Cheese factory.

Mac earned 4th place in the Science Fair, so I bought her a MP3 Player. Which sounded like a good idea at the time, she is a good kid. However, a day later I realized that I lost my maid/servant and she is not as enthusiastic to earn that .50 cents unloading the dishwasher as she was last week.

For St. Patrick's Day I pulled out the big guns and cooked Pork and Sauerkraut for my neighbors, instead of Corned beef and Cabbage, not one of my prouder moments.

I did not have green beer this year, and I am still a little bitter about that.

Because I was home alone with the girls this week, it took me three days to get through the two hour American Idol.

I blistered my lip last night after eating junior mints on a graham cracker right out of the microwave. I was going for a smore effect, sans the mallows. But that minty middle is like a weapon and it turns into nearly invisible liquid when nuked.

Happy Spring Break to All! Hopefully when I get back from the Mazatlan or the "place of deer" thanks again WIKI, I will have some good stories to share.

St. Patrick’s Day, To Celebrate or Not to Celebrate, That is the Question

Since I cracked myself up with my own Haiku, not a good Haiku, but a freakin Haiku none the less. And while I am at it, can I get a shout out for Wikipedia? I must have been at Hardee's for an "extended lunch period" when they taught Haiku 101 at high school or maybe it was taught in junior high and I was in the nurses office with a forged note trying to get out of Phys Ed...AGAIN.

So today I thought whilst I was in the mood I would follow my Rhysling Award Haiku (thanks again Wiki) with a little dity I jotted down in the car pool lane about St. Paddy's Day. You know, maybe for sport I will go three for three and write a Limerick on Wednesday, oh man I wish my English teacher Mrs. Oesterreicher could see me now.

As I creep up on forty, I feel I have to ask,
are forty year old women still beating their flasks?
Are we still able to flock to the pubs the on seventeenth with good cheer?
And more importantly how old is too old to indulge in Green Beer?

So should I go to the pub filled with students for the St. Patrick’s Day party?
Or should I stay home and make my own Whiskey toddy?
For this week, these are the questions that run through my (forty is the new thirty) brain.
Not the dishes or the laundry or the clogged kitchen drain.

Slainte!
(Irish for Cheers or if I was partaking in the frothy green beverage, with my high school buddies college friends, I would most likely just say "Drink til I tell you to stop.")

...BTW I have to come clean, this started as a Limerick, but I gave up halfway through.

...OK, really at no time was it a Limerick, however, it would be the perfect time to write a Limerick with Green Beer this close to St. Paddy's day, right? But that didn't dawn on me until a few minutes ago when I started writing this post. OK will shoot for Wednesday.

...Well, you probably won't see a Limerick on Wednesday either. I hope to be brewing some green beer in the jacuzzi tub so I will be kind of busy. Plus I really don't feel like writing a Limerick, too much work. But if you want to come up with one, I will post it here for everyone to read...you know you can, come on I dare you.

...I double dawg dare you.

...Triple?

Ode to my velour sweatsuits, which are not Juicy, but from Old Navy instead which is why I have more to love...

A Haiku (and a writing prompt from Mamma Kat)

Not a Golden Girl

But your bright colors bring warmth to me

You are my best friend

On my honor, I will try...

One of my first couple of posts was about Cheese going to Bible School, you can read it here. For six weeks Cheese and I we went round and round and round about her going to one week of Bible Camp. Hell there was more debate and crossing of lines than over the Health Care Debate. So most recently we have been going Round and Round (I love that song, by Ratt by the way) about Girl Scout Camp. Here was our latest conversation.

Cheese, do you want to go to Girl Scout Day Camp this summer? Mac is going and so are our neighbors.

What is it?

It's girl scout camp. A one week camp themed like one giant Nancy Drew mystery. You remember that movie right?

I don't want to be a girl scout.

Well, you don't have to be a girl scout they are just hosting the Nancy Drew, learn to be a detective, day camp.

It is like school?

Well it is like school but with out the learning part.

So it's like Disney World?

What? Do you think school is like Disney world? It is more like recess.

So is there a playground?

I don't know if there is a playgroup. (in between big deep breaths, with voice raised but not yelling yet) How bout this, it is like a party at school with crafts and treats and all fun stuff but without the phonics. Similar to the 100 Day Party we had at school a couple of weeks ago but instead of doing all things with the number 100, you will be solving mysteries and going on treasure hunts.

Sure, like that. Can I have apple juice instead of water in my water bottle today for school?

Today I am taking a McMulligan...

Up last night at 1am, 3am and again at 5am. Finally fell asleep and pretty sure REM was established. I was just about to ride some bumper cars with Robert Patterson aka Edward, in my dream when I was harshly awakened by my alarm. Argh...

Got out of bed and realized that I must have pulled out my lower back while sleeping. Double argh...

My eyes itch, again, and this has been going on for a week. What is up with that, argh...

Picked up Cheese from school, she too must have had a shitty day, because she wouldn't get out of the car at Walgreen's voluntarily, so I pulled her out but not before I nearly broke my nose on the top of her head, and ya'll I saw stars. I felt like those old Tom and Jerry cartoons, she was crying, I was crying. Karma strikes again argh...

... so I went through the drive thru of McDonald's, grabbed a McFish sandwich and some fries and just decided to chalk up this day to a McMulligan.

Sure you take it...

So I pirated this award from the Bloggess. Hey she said I could like totally take it... Well, maybe she didn't really want me to take it, maybe it was one of those "situations". You know the one where you and your girlfriend are shopping and both of you gravitate to the same shiny beacon, a gorgeous silvery purse on sale and the only one of its kind. So you say, "you know what, you buy it, I already have a silver purse, you had a bad week, and you deserve it dude."

Meanwhile you are screaming inside because you have finally found the one accessory that will bring your entire wardrobe into fashionista alignment. This purse not only completes you but you are afraid if you don't take it home with you it will land on your list of regrets right in between the Frye Boots on clearance at Nordstroms that you could buy only if you sacrificed your groceries for three weeks and the cashmere pea coat that you couldn't justify while living in the south, only to received orders that next month for Omaha, NE.

Oh, and if you have never read thebloggess.com than you are totally missing out.

LIFE! Do you hear me? Give my creation... LIFE!

Today I dedicate this post to my parents. Or to any parents who look at their children one day and feel like Victor Frankenstein. Their monster walks the earth wreaking havoc on all who surround him. But with the power to create of that life, you also assume the responsibility to nurture it and you can never rid the bond that lies beneath, regardless of the "monster's" mistakes. Sure this conversation taken from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is very dark and far more extreme than what we face as parents, but as Victor Frankenstein address his monster Frankenstein, can't you just feel his torment, I mean come on Victor, can I get a big AARRRGGGHHHH....

"Devil", I exclaimed, "do you dare approach me? And do you not fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? Begone, vile insect? Or rather, stay that I must trample you to dust!" And, oh! That I could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore those victims whom you have so diabolically murdered."

"I expected this reception" said the demon. "All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to who thou are bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You propose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. "

Yeah, I know dark right?

However, I think Gene Wilder handled it better, from Young Frankenstein...

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: "Love is the only thing that can save this poor creature, and I am going to convince him that he is loved even at the cost of my own life. No matter what you hear in there, no matter how cruelly I beg you, no matter how terribly I may scream, do not open this door or you will undo everything I have worked for. Do you understand? Do not open this door."

Inga: "Yes, Doctor."

Igor: "Nice working with ya."

[Dr. Frederick Frankenstein goes into the room with The Monster. The Monster wakes up]

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: "Let me out. Let me out of here. Get me the hell out of here. What's the matter with you people? I was joking! Don't you know a joke when you hear one? HA-HA-HA-HA. Jesus Christ, get me out of here! Open this goddamn door or I'll kick your rotten heads in! Mommy!"

Take me off your list... I DON'T KNOW YOU PEOPLE!!!

I have mentioned here and here my mundane, entertaining and sometimes disgusting conversations with my group of girlfriends. What started as a way to report "the news" to each other as we were scattered across the four corners of the universe, has now turned into a 6 month long email trail. A trail that at times leads to a fantastical and imaginary place where divas and bitches rule and the tweedle dees and tweedle dums that stumble across our path later turn into pawns in a giant game of "we own the world, you have a problem with that?" chess.

I have shared here the G and PG-13 versions of this fantastic game. But what I haven't shared is that some of these conversations will at times border on the line of shameless while it disects the line of creepy and then slowly converges onto the plane of just plain wicked.

Well yesterday, thank you very much, oh person that we do not know, with the freakingly similar email name, that you have been receiving these private notes from the five of us. And thank you for your perfectly crafted reply...

Take me off your mailing list... I DO NOT KNOW YOU PEOPLE!!!

Next stop, therapy.

Must have been some superpowers in my coffee creamer...

Or that was some good Boone's Farm last night...but this morning I woke up and hit the ground running like a hot buff Flash Gordon, straight into my flaming red and yellow supersuit with the super cut yellow high top sneakers ready to face the evil lurking in my house of fortitude. Before I knew it I had organized my entire 12 hour day in the first 45 minutes of the morning. I dressed and styled the natives, packed lunches, pulled a tooth, refereed some potential arguments before they hit UFC status, gave a lesson on cheating and how trading homework and doing your friends assignment is wrong (although you did equal work, it doesn't matter it is still cheating), and even thought about dinner by taking out some meat to thaw on the kitchen counter. Dropped off the kids at school and decided to take a extra lap in the parking lot while hanging out of my sunroof, singing Christina Aquilera, "I'm your super girl / Out to save the world and it keeps gettin' better ..."

Now I do realize that just by typing this and sending to the world I am inviting a whole lot of misfortune to come up on this house and reek major Mxyzptlk havoc on me. And the only way I will be able to get rid of the little rascal will be by saying his name backwards. But that's OK I can take it, I have Wonder Woman's invisible jet parked in the driveway with one way directions to Maui plugged in its invisible navigation system and the Wonder Twins as a back up plan sitting shot gun in pre-morph status debating on whether they should morph to an eagle and a bucket of water or ice rocket engine and an ant and fly me the hell out of here.

Bitchy Friday...

I am two days late and two shopping trips short for Wordless Wednesday. So today I will call this post, Bitchy Friday, because, and say it with me..."Seriously, Why Can't I?"

I dedicate my post to the BBBs (best band of bitches).

HOW TO BE A GRACIOUS BITCH

Jennifer's wedding day was fast approaching. Nothing could dampen her excitement - not even her parent's nasty divorce.

Her mother had found the PERFECT dress to wear, and would be the best-dressed mother-of-the-bride ever!

A week later, Jennifer was horrified to learn that her father's new, young wife had bought the exact same dress as her mother!

Jennifer asked her father's new young wife to exchange it, but she refused. ''Absolutely not! I look like a million bucks in this dress, and I'm wearing it,'' she replied.

Jennifer told her mother who graciously said, ''Never mind sweetheart. I'll get another dress. After all, it's your special day.''

A few days later, they went shopping, and did find another gorgeous dress for her mother.

When they stopped for lunch, Jennifer asked her mother, ''Aren't you going to return the other dress? You really don't have another occasion where you could wear it."

Her mother just smiled and replied, ''Of course I do, dear.....I'm wearing it to the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding.''

Help I have fallen off the wagon and I can't find my way back on...

Is it good thing to "fall off the wagon", I never know, because being on the wagon seems pretty smart, I mean it is the fastest way right? I also have trouble when someone says something fell through. Is that good or bad. If your plans fell through does that mean that they are happening or not. I guess it is bad, like if your dog fell through the ice that would pretty much suck. So maybe it is bad that plans fell through. Oh, never mind.

Life has been pretty busy, which is a good thing. My vanilla life is starting to get some colored sprinkles, not enough for a "mix-in" but enough for a child's sundae. But with the sprinkles, I start to neglect the ole' blogo. Which is why I fell off the wagon, or on the wagon, see it all comes full circle. So today I have a segment called having fun with flappers.

Some background...my girlfriends and I had a conversation once about what era would be suit our body type. My friend has a tiny waste so we always said she would be a good "fit" for the fifties, in her cinched waste and poodle skirt glory. Me, on the other hand, I seem to carry my weight in the middle but I have thin legs...so the seventies would be my era, complete with babydoll short dresses, think Goldie Hawn on Laugh In. However, I totally forgot about the 20s and while the 70s would be groovy, I think being a flapper would be the Cat's Meow. The flapper was an icon, challenging notions about gender roles and demanding the same social freedoms as men. Drinking, smoking, bootlegging they always looked like they were having a ball. Not to mention the too cute fringe short dresses, nothing masks a belly than some black fringe. Of course, this would have only been cool until 1928, I then would have to get the hell out of dodge because after that things pretty much went into the crapper.

So today I share some photos (found on the Internet) these are not my photos. But check out how much fun these ladies were having. And since we don't know what they are saying I have captioned each picture with some of my recent email conversations with my girls, sorry bitches some things are too funny not to share.

"They are like a size 2 or 4 and have fake ta-ta's, so they look amazing, I wish I had the balls for fake ones. Damn all my plastic phobias!"

Those bitches (oops I mean ladies) better not give me shit. I am not happy on this low carb shit and I may tell them all to go suck it. No more whining, they either step up or I will tell how it is. I swear, who gives that much crap about Bunco, for the love of Pete, get a life.

"Is there such a thing as "too tacky" at a chili cook-off? I guess I could just black out a tooth, but I think the tequila shots would just wash it off."

"And you know what I could do with that extra $20.53 I'd rake in! Woo-hoo, Dollar General baby, here I come...they sell Boones Farm right?"

"So now they are shitting their pants because they don't know what to do with all the hookers. And they weren't young hot hookers, they were older worn out hookers."

"I think passing it off as a fart is your best bet and avoid the incline sit-ups in the future! If it makes you feel any better I sharted on Saturday while driving the fam around...I'm not joking at all...actual had to throw the panties away shart...It was pretty humiliating, but after eating healthy, that is what BK onion rings did to me."

"OK girls, Plan B, we may want to get a jump on developing those Leopard Printed Depends...it looks like we all may need them earlier than later."

February 12, 2010 Dun dun dun dun dun da, ya say its your birthday...

Make Funny Fortune Cookies Pictures at Fortune-Cookie-Generator.com

It's my birthday to yeah.

Cookie idea from my pal at BATCRAP CRAZY.

Wordless Wednesday

Cheese is watching the Disney Channel and Ella is watching ...not.

Do not...

Following on the heels of my last post, listing things I think it is OK to do. I have a new list to share. I admit, today I awoke just a little bit surly for my taste, a little grumpy if you will. Well actually a whole lot of grumpy, kinda like that feeling you get when you have a gift card to your favorite store and you can't find one stupid thing you like. Not sure, it could be because my coffee wasn't sweet enough this morning or because Cheese is 3 for 3 in throwing fits before and after school this week or maybe because the only muscles that don't actually hurt right now are my fingers from my demon spawn trainer. All I know is the only thing that is keeping me from a cheeseburger and a malted milkshake from Culver's is the fact that I have to put on a bathing suit in about a month, and as I round third base and slide into the big 4-0, I need to have at least one more year rocking the belly button run while sunning under the "she looks OK" cabana before letting it all go.

So here is my list of things that it is not OK to do...

1. Do not send me an email, one sentence and use capitalization like you are yelling at me. And then make it worse by leaning out a closing...Sincerely, Best,Thanks or even In Your Face, would suffice.

2. Do not show any trailers to CSI before 9pm, as there is nothing like watching Wheel of the Fortune with the kids, cut to a commercial to see a guy with his head bashed in laying dead on a baseball field. Please wait to put these commercials on after my kids are in bed.

3. And while I am at it, can you stop running the same preview of Princess Diaries and Princess Diaries Two, that says "Shut Up"... I would rather my kids say "Oh Shit",than "Shut Up".

4. Do not call me on the phone and then start playing a recording.

5. Fed Ex, do not tease leave me a note that you stopped by to deliver something and then make me wait for days before you return again. Thus creating a stalker of me as I hunt you and my package down.

6. Do not walk onto the elevator until everyone else has walked out. Come on, even my kids know this (OK they really don't, and because they don't I am "that" Mom giving "that" lecture on EVERY elevator ride.)

7. Do not tell me about how your doggie agility class is going unless I ask. And that goes for your doctor visit, your 3 hour car repair appointment or your unsatisfying grocery trip. Unless I ask.

8. Do not leave me a cryptic message on my answering machine. You have like two minutes. Hell I can leave a novella in two minutes, surely you have enough time to TELL me why you are calling.

9. Do not use my towel. If you find a towel hanging up and you didn't hang it there, then it is mine, not yours. And if you are under 12 and living in this house, do not leave your towel on the BATHROOM FLOOR.

and lastly, 10. Do not start the laundry unless you plan on... FINISHING it.

It's OK to...

At the gym today I was reading a June 2008 Glamour Magazine. I am not sure what that reflects more poorly on, the fact that my gym that still has 2008 magazines or the fact that I chose a 2008 Glamour instead of the most recent National Geographic Mag. Admittingly, after forgetting my Ipod, I would have read a copy of New England Journal of Medicine if that was all there was, ANYTHING to take my mind off both the monotony and the pain of walking "uphill" on that damn treadmill.

So in this issue, they had a page dedicated to things it's OK to do without feeling guilty. So to keep my mind off the task at hand (or as I like to call it, project ass shrink) I came up with a list of my own.

Like I think it's OK to...

...when someone compliments your shirt, tell them the price and that it came from Target.

...order both a beer and a carafe of Saki at dinner, I know two drinks at once, pretty empowering, but those Saki bombs aren't going to make themselves.

...wear blue eyeliner or blue mascara or both.

...tell someone your dress is "vintage" even if its not and you purchased it from TJ Maxx last week.

...say "shit" in front of your kids. You wouldn't say it unless you meant it.

...leave the last sip of beer in your glass, we're not in college anymore, no need to chug.

...weep while watching Extreme Home Makeover or that damn commercial with Sarah McLaughlin and the ASPCA.

...tip 15% instead of 20%.

...change you hair color.

...use the word "shart" in a sentence. Like, I shart while in yoga class.

...avoid the airplane rows that have babies in them. Been there done that.

...go to the beach and NOT get into the ocean.

...think that Zac Efron is hot, even though he could be your son.

...sing out loud with air guitar.

...order the house wine.

...defriend people on FaceBook and in real life.

...spend more money on a pair of sunglasses than on your kids clothes.

...carry a purse that's bigger than your head. (That one is for hubby.) In your face.

...take pictures of everything and everyone.

and lastly...it's OK to...order fries with everything.

Did they really say that?

I carry a Palm Pre, not that it matters what kind of phone I have, because although I have a Pre, like my brain I only use about 30% of it's capabilities. One of my favorite functions is the notes tab. I have to imagine there is a simple way to record these notes, but for now you can find me in an instant dropping everything to type into my stupid phone whenever my kids have something funny to say. This could be in a supermarket, on the Vegas strip or on the side of the highway in the minivan (because of course I would NOT be typing while driving, wink). And I can't tell you how many times Hubby has rolled his eyes at the dinner table because I have to get up to type something into my phone or reached into my purse while knee deep in ravoli at a restaurant to get something down verbatim. I blame it on a-a-a-a- alcohol, the a-a-a-alcohol. I have a very short term memory, what can I say? But if someone knows of a voice recorder on the Pre, let me know how to find it.

That being said, originally I started this blog to record our everyday lives with the goal of one day placing this information into a book to give to the girls. I now realize my plan may have some flaws, because instead of presenting the girls with adorable scrapbooks of their lives from Birth to High School, they will instead each be given: a scrapbook til about age 5 for Mac and 3 for Cheese, a stack of CDs with random photos from ages 4 to 17 with sharpe labels and a copy of the entries of this blog, single spaced, coffee stained and stapled.

So to make sure there are a couple of pages dedicated my wonderful smart children...here is another installment of out of the mouths of babes.

Mac- A boy in my class said that Haiti would probably get more donations if it was called Lovey. After emptying out her piggy bank to donate her $6.43.

While walking down the Vegas strip, for what seemed like forever, Hubby was on the hunt for a Mojito. He kept saying, they have to have a Mojito stand somewhere, this is Vegas for goodness sake. Cheese looks up and says "is Mojito French for a taxi, because I could use a taxi about now."

And again standing on the strip waiting to cross the street, Cheese looking down at all the girlie cards and looks up very confused to say, "why are those two girls touching tongues?" I never wished more that I had 10 feet, one to place over every smutty pictures there in the street.

In the car, Mac says, "OK Cheese pick a city."
Cheese, "United States of America"
Mac, "No smaller, a city"
Cheese, "OK, U.S."

Bird poop and fish pedicures...what?

Email, I love, love getting email, FROM MY FRIENDS. However, Lara Davis you are not my friend, if you are reading this, NO I don't want to get 2500 direct TV channels and Amy Johnson you also are not my friend and I will most probably not be calling you "before midnight" to claim my really joint prize offered my Microsoft and Yahoo. So stop spamming me.

I try to live by the motto, react or reject. When I receive a email in my inbox, my goal is to either delete or reply. Again that is a goal, I also have a goal to run a half marathon this year and have to say my execution of both plans has started off a little slow, but hey I still have eleven months to get cracking. I say this as I look at the 355 emails sitting in Yahoo purgatory and my running shoes in the corner of my bedroom growing cobwebs. Sure I realize I need to step it up. But how am I supposed to find the time to read and delete 355 emails. And when I find that time, I suppose I will also have to find the time to make the beds take the Christmas decorations down to the basement from the garage, while fitting in my afternoon run.

But since January came and went in a Jack Frost blink of an eye, and February is a new month, today with a renewed outlook, I did start to go through some of these emails and if you really take a minute to look into your inbox and read before you delete you can find some really fascinating stuff. Like this article from Excelle Lifestyle Digest about "5 Disgusting Things We Do for Beauty." About now, my little nail salon down the street sounds like a good as place as anywhere for a pedicure so I think for now I'll stick to the basics. I could barely get past the snakes anyway.

1. Placenta Facial Anyone?

What are we dousing our faces in? Human placenta (used as a hydrating treatment, and costing an average of $500). Snail secretion (the goop apparently blocks out environmental pollution, and also has rejuvenating qualities) and bird poop (nightingale excretion, actually; it’s said to be rich in the amino acid guanine, which brightens and cleanses skin).
This is great and all but can you tell me what I can do with pigeon shit?

2. How bout a Snake Massages?

In Israel, spa proprietress Ada Barak came up with the idea for snake massages. Basically, she placed a mass of entwined snakes onto her customers’ backs, letting the feeling of the snakes’ movement against the skin calm them. And by “them,” we mean her apparently-out-of-their-minds-brave customers. We’d be anything but calm.
Absolutely, positively, no way in hell, not for a million dollars and a beach house.

3. Or a Fish Pedicure?

People across the nation were immediately disgusted when Sherri Shepherd got a fish pedicure on a July 2008 episode of The View. What’s a fish pedicure? It’s an unconventional beauty treatment in which a group of small garra rufa fish, a type of carp, help exfoliate the feet by feeding on the dead, flaking skin (we just puked in our mouths a little). Since news of the treatment first swept across a variety of media channels, several states and animal rights groups have sought to ban them.
This doesn't sound so bad, I mean hey, if the fish like to eat feet, let them eat feet. Plus they don't have souls anyway... for my PETA friends:)

4. Or how bout a Booty Surgery?

We’ve already written about beauty queen Solange Magnano’s unfortunate demise resulting from, of all things, a butt lift. Apparently, the liquid injected into Miss Magnano’s behind traveled to her lungs and brain, causing respiratory failure. As if we didn’t already need a reason to stick with the butt that God gave us, this sad, sordid tale clinches things for us.
RIP, Hey M you may be onto something.

5. Labiaplasty. What????

Do you know what’s uncomfortably close to our labia? The clitoris, the most sensitive of women’s erogenous zones. And if that gets nicked, we’re screwed.
(no pun intended right) Otherwise I got nothing.

Lions and Tigers and Bears, well really just Lions

Meet Simba.

Simba was purchased for Cheese (my 6 year old) while shopping in Las Vegas. Simba was purchased not only as a reward for good behavior but also as a bribe for future behavior. Cheese loved her little Simba and carried him EVERYWHERE.

On the Vegas Strip


To Dinner


To the Bathroom...

Well things didn't quite workout in the bathroom. This is Simba soaked with toilet water after Cheese tried to balance him on mom's leg without her knowledge, just as I got up from the toilet. It was a miracle he made it because if it wasn't for mom reaching into the bowels of Vegas, he would have been sucked up by the industrial strength stainless steel toilet outside of Serendipity III. And would now be living where the swamp monsters run free and the ghosts of the Rat Pack drink dry martinis and sing in perfect harmony. Cheese wasn't so appreciative.

Because this is Cheese having her photo taken in the bathroom stall, immediately after "the incident", by her mother (pants down around ankles), thus securing her a future seat on a comfy couch with her therapist when she gets older.


Good times...

Classy Co Co...

No this is not a post about Co CO Chanel… but more about Conan O’Brien, late night talk show host. As we head into 2010 maybe we can taken Conan’s dignity, his class and his words of wisdom and use them as a guide to our own life while we wait for our turn to ride the bull, lasso the cow or just be the clown in our own rodeo of life.

Admittedly, I am not a huge fan of Conan O’Brien, I didn’t write NBC to keep his show on nor did I camp out to be a part of his last performance. None the less I caught his finale last night and in case you missed it, here was Conan’s final speech as he said good night to the Tonight Show.


"Walking away from The Tonight Show is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Making this choice has been enormously difficult. This is the best job in the world, I absolutely love doing it, and I have the best staff and crew in the history of the medium. But despite this sense of loss, I really feel this should be a happy moment. Every comedian dreams of hosting The Tonight Show and, for seven months, I got to. I did it my way, with people I love, and I do not regret a second. I've had more good fortune than anyone I know and if our next gig is doing a show in a 7-11 parking lot, we'll find a way to make it fun.

And finally, I have to say something to our fans. The massive outpouring of support and passion from so many people has been overwhelming. The rallies, the signs, all the goofy, outrageous creativity on the internet, and the fact that people have traveled long distances and camped out all night in the pouring rain to be in our audience, made a sad situation joyous and inspirational.

To all the people watching, I can never thank you enough for your kindness to me and I'll think about it for the rest of my life. All I ask of you is one thing: please don't be cynical. I hate cynicism -- it's my least favorite quality and it doesn't lead anywhere.

Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen."

Escaping to Vegas...

Where do you go to escape reality? The beach? Snow Skiing? A mountain retreat?

Well last week I spent my escape from the reals in Las Vegas. And on the contrary, let me say that nothing gives you a good ole "kick in the reality pants" than a trip to where "America goes to show off their Cleavage." To my point, nothing quite washes down last nights reality "hangover" than a $7.00 skinny caramel latte served with a $10.00 chocolate croissant.

Throughout the week, these waves of reality crashed into and out of my days, along with some pretty wonderful moments. For instance, I had a great moment, when I walked away from Craps on Monday a winner. And a reality moment when I played on Tuesday and spent that weeks grocery money. A great moment, a helicopter tour over the skyline at night, on the top of the world. And the the next morning, a reality moment, as I squinted into the bright morning sun with this time a liquor induced hangover, and realized that I was standing knee deep in nudie "business cards" and dried strawberry daiquiri which was now sticking all over my uncomfortable (but expensive) Vegas shoes.

I started to realize that while it is great to escape from my podunk vanilla life in the plains and for me into the bright lights of the big city, all the while wearing my patton leather boots and sequined tanks...I really missed my Ugg boots and velour tracksuits.

Random Tuesday Thoughts...

Randomness, that word couldn't be any more perfect on how I would describe today, well actually the past two days.

For starters I am working on my laptop, and will be until I find out how NOT to buy another HP...Why you ask? Because after all the wonderful things I had to say about technology on my last post, mostly refering to my phone...I must have pissed off oh great Computer One, because that God the one that looks over our computer memory got his feelings hurt, and well he crashed my computer Sunday night. I mean seriously did you not get enough sacrificial RAMs last year (get it) that you had to find search me out and crashed my desktop. And those guys at Geek Squad, you can suck it too my little eighteen year old pubescent nerds. Thanks for nothing.

Also yesterday I turned a simple oil change in the mommobile into a buy an oil change get new brakes for NOT FREE...$300 later. What is the car diety in kahoots with wise oh wise computer one?

Now, onto today, I am buried under 14 loads of laundry as we get ready for our Vegas trip next week. No I am not complaining about the Vegas trip (that my friends is the light at the week end's tunnel). But with that comes four other projects that need to be done for work, BEFORE the trip, on my LAPTOP.

I am also feeling guilty because Cheese is in with the babysitterTV, watching Spongebob and Martha Speaks with a little Drake and Josh mixed in, because there is nothing like expanding her mind, her language and her hormones with a little bit of teenage angst. "No honey, if we feed our cats alphabet soup they will not start talking like Martha." "I do realize that Spongebob is six and has a job." "And yes, I agree, Drake is hot."

And to be quite honest, all I really want to do is to devour a container of Wal-Mart "happy" cookies with the pink frosting and sprinkles, but instead I will have a Quick Trim/ Laxative combo chased with a Diet Mt. Dew because if I don't the cocktail dress I bought for said trip will not zip.

There is, however, some good news... I just received this email from bNet.com. Regarding an article adressing the challenges of modern life: email, Twitter feeds, instant messaging, text messages, and other snippets of information are coming at us so fast that it’s hard not to feel under digital attack.

A University of London study done for Hewlett-Packard (they can kiss my ass by the way) found that “infomania” — a term connected with addiction to email and texting — can lower your IQ by twice as much as smoking marijuana. (WHAT?) Moreover, email can raise the levels of noradrenaline and dopamine in your brain by constantly introducing new stimuli into your day. When those levels get too high, complex thinking becomes more difficult, making it harder to make decisions and solve problems — key roles for all managers.

OK, gotta go, peace out, hippies. I am outta here, going to score "some happy cookies", I mean seriously why can't I?

Ten Questions...

I remember when I was a kid I had a project where I had to answer 50 questions about the first 40 Presidents of the United States from place of birth to length of term and slogans used against their opponents "54 40 or fight"~ James K Polk. And my source for this assignment, the World Book Encyclopedia, circa 1976. I remember still the burgundy leather bound books swelled with yellow tattered pages and corners folded to mark important pages. It took me about a week to gather all of that boring ass information from the books and place it into a report. And since my set of encyclopedias only covered up to Ford so I still had to muster up the energy to search the library for Carter and Reagan adding another couple of days of work.

Fast forward twenty plus years and holy cow, Mr. Dewey Decimal, while I am still forever in debt to your wealth of knowledge and enamored by your vastness, I worry for your future old man. Don't worry, you won't lose me as a patron as the older I become the more I realize your importance and still get aroused by the mere mention of the library. But then again I also get excited walking out to mailbox and a little giddy when I open the morning newspaper and have a sip of warm coffee.

But technology is giving you a run for your money pops...you better strap on a jet pack and propel yourself into the next decade and get ahead of the speeding bullet technology train...because as I was driving home tonight I began to think of all the ways I have used my Palm Pre phone to find out random information, and in most cases I found it out in less than a minute from the front seat of my car. I mean did you know that...

10. I can find out why Bear Grylls gave himself an enema on a raft last night on Man vs. Wild?

9. I can search for what they call the name of the bad ass flying dragon on Avatar so I cand then put it in my FB status as wanting to buy one.

8. I can use my phone to google the "correct" pronunciation of the word conch to settle a dispute between friends (and it is pronounced conk in case you are wondering).

7. I can use google maps to find out the closest IHOP, because they are the only "international house" that serve chocolate chip pancakes within a 30 mile radius.

6. I can read Pride and Prejudice, that took less than a minute to download.

5. I can take a snapshot of the Rocky Mountains and save it as my wallpaper.

4. I can find out what time, exactly, the International Space Station will be flying overhead.

3. I can also find out what time it will start snowing (within an hour) so that I can make sure my car is parked securely in the garage.

2. I can use it to RSVP YES for a helicopter ride over Vegas. Best watch out flying Elvis.

And lastly...

1. I can find out what color bras my girlfriends are wearing...