My resolution for today is to drink less - but, check back tomorrow just in case.

I am glad this week is over and all the holiday cheer stuff is done. It is on to the holiday with no pretense. New Year's Eve. I love this holiday because everyone is really, really honest about their intentions...gettin' smashed. It is the Official Alcoholiday. Whee!

My smashiness was last night at our New Year's party. What are my plans for the real New Year's Eve, you ask? Simple. Watch Dick Clark. Figure out where they put the batteries. The man is a robot. I swear it.

Anyway, we had about 25 couples here and it was loud and rowdy and you can't. Even. Imagine. the sheer volume of alcohol bottles we put out in our garbage can today. If we weren't so hung over we might take them to the recycle place and pay our way to Tahiti. But alas - we just ain't that motivated.

So, without further ado here are things I actually said/did last night:

1. Honey, would you please tape the refrigerator shut 'cause if anyone drinks my RockStar I'll kick 'em in the balls. I'm not even kidding.

2. Whaddup bitches! (drunken shout to room full of friends) Who's my booze fetcher for the night?

3. Who's drink is this? (shouted over full volume death metal) Anyone? (takes sip) Gak! This is disgusting. Who made this? Who was drinking this crap? This sucks. (pours gross drink into my half empty cup) Anyone? Going once!(shrugs) Going twice!(takes drink)(shudders) No takers? Well, it's mine now suckas! (throw gang sign)(turn to leave room)(run into wall)

4. What happened to the door? Why won't the door open? Who broke my door you MoFos. (screamed over frantic pounding by party-goers trapped in garage by broken door)

5. Seriously people. What. Were. You. Doing. To. BREAK. A. DOOR KNOB? In the laundry room no less. Heathens.


Yeah. It was a great party. I ain't gonna lie.

Oh, and here are a couple of pics of me and Eric before the party started and my makeup left the building.


Yeah - Eric's hot. It's ok. You can say it. I know.


Yeah - Eric's still hot. It's ok. You can say it. I know. I was seriously born under a lucky star.

Happy Holidays - with no Bah-Humbug undertones.

What an awesomely crazy week! My brother, sister-in-law and their two kids came for Christmas and we had the best time! Even the kids managed to make it through the whole week without beating the crap out of each other. Whee!

Here is how it all went down...

First there was Christmas morning. Weeks of work and preparation culminating in 5 minutes of crazed package shredding. Oh...and the kids had fun opening their presents, too.



On Christmas night there was sledding at Bogus Basin. It was about 13 degrees and windy as hell, but we were out there for two hours having a total blast. We outlasted almost everyone out there because we? Are crazy MoFo's and there ain't nuttin' that will stop our fun havin'.



The day after Christmas we went up to the cabin and did a little snowmobiling.



After an afternoon in ONE DEGREE temperatures racing around on a snowmobile at forty miles an hour we went back to the cabin and crashed.

The next day it was up to Tamarack for a day of skiing/snowboarding. Drew started skiing last year and Eric has been both a skier and a snowboarder forever, but this was the first time they got to go together. I got a little teary. Seriously. It was freakin' cute!



It was another frigid day - about 10 degrees - and I was the biggest wimp of the group. I walked around at the base of the hill and took pictures of everyone. They were all smiling and waving and having a blast. I was cold and grumpy and couldn't feel my toes...Thinsulate boots my ass...I am thinking of writing a strongly worded letter. I should have just gone snowboarding with everyone, but I had visions of knees twisting and kneecaps dislocating and monks burning themselves in protest and thought, "Nah - why ruin everyone's week? No monks are gonna die on my watch."

See? I AM a philanthropist so quit bein' haters.

Overall it was a fabulous week. My family left today and I already miss them. Tonight is our big New Year's party. Yeah...I know...it isn't New Year's yet, but I figured we would have it tonight and I would have more time to recuperate before I have to actually go to work and THINK. See...I am using my brain cells before I kill them off with copious amounts o'alcohol.

So...since I hate resolutions and refuse to make any, I will tell you what I am most grateful for. It's an easy one. A bit sappy and it might make some people throw up a little, but that's ok. They are just jealous. Haters.

I am grateful for Eric. He gave me all the things that make my life worth living. I don't know where I would be if it weren't for him and want the whole world to know how much I love him.

Finally...some Holiday Cheer. Whee!!

It is a few days before Christmas and my family has arrived. We now have 4 adults and 3 children running around like crazy people in our house. It started snowing today and the kids all ran around and threw snowballs at each other. There were a few adult casualties, but no blood or tears. I consider that a good snowball fight.

Tomorrow we are taking the train to the North Pole. It has been at least an hour of, "Seriously? The North Pole? By train? And Santa will be there? Really? I wonder if there will be elves. I wonder if they will give us candy canes. I wonder if we'll get to actually talk to Santa and get our picture taken. I wonder if..." Eric finally told me to shut up.

We are still trying to finish Chrismas shopping. My sister-in-law, Julie, and I went to the mall today. I know what you are thinking. I was thinking it, too. The mall on the last Saturday before Christmas? Have you Lost? Your? Mind? Because the mall? Filled with psycho-shoppers.

It was actually not that bad. I only shoved one person the whole time we were there. Really. I swear! So stop with the judging already. I tell you...that kid deserved what she got. I totally called dibs on the last Hannah Montana PSP game and she used her low center of gravity to her advantage. I do have to give her snaps though because even when she lost her balance she never lost her death grip.

Now we are at home drinking. Heavily.

We are trying to prepare for tomorrow morning's trip to Target. We have a plan for this one. Won't catch us unaware again. Oh no. This time? We have a map and a plan.

We. Shall. Prevail. Jingle Bells!

Frosty the Snowperv

I am surrounded. They're everywhere. And they're watching me with their beady little eyes.

Don't let those little raisins shaped into smiles fool you. They won't hesitate to stab you through the heart with their carrot noses and then glide away giggling because summer? It's six months away and until then you're their bitch.

Seriously...it is an army of snowmen and I am slightly afraid to close my eyes at night. A couple of them are wearing either skis or ice skates for mobility and they are going to get me because I keep them locked in cardboard boxes in a closet for at least 50 weeks out of the year.

Eric keeps telling me to get them out sooner, but I just. Can't. Do. It. They get taken out of the boxes and before you know it there is a snowman in every freakin' room. They watch me eat. They watch me sleep. They watch me watch t.v. and if I didn't put my foot down they would probably watch me pee.

Seriously. I'm a little creeped out.

On the up side the tree looks spectacular and my family will be here in 4 days.

If I play my cards right I might be able to make the snowmen disappear one at a time, slowly, so no one notices. Gotta keep an eye on those fluffy, white bastards and get them before they get me.

Winter wonderland, my ass.

It snowed yesterday morning. I went to bed and all was right with the world. When I got up Monday morning I went downstairs, opened the blinds in the front room and was greeted by a wonderland of white.

Pretty, you say? Sure. Pretty. Also? Slippery.

My Monday morning commute took 2 hours. Two teeth-grinding, white knuckling, profanity screaming, headache making hours. A normal commute for me is half an hour and even though I normally scream profanities I don't normally grind my teeth.

I slipped. I slid. I skidded. And that was just backing out of the driveway.

I think the thing that drives me bat shit crazy is the fact that people Lose. Their. Minds. at the first sign of snow. IT'S IDAHO PEOPLE. IDAHO. IT SNOWS HERE. EVERY YEAR. ON MORE THAN ONE OCCASION. GET A GRIP.

All you have to do in order to navigate snow is drive slowly, don't make any sudden movements and don't slam on your brakes. Sort of like when you did the lights off drive-bys on your high school crush's house and all your girlfriends ducking behind the seats in fits of giggles.

Instead of slow and careful driving, I had an insane number of ass hats in giant SUVs blur past me on the freeway. Little tip: Four wheel drive? They slide. I know this because I have a four wheel drive and although I drive slightly faster than Miss Daisy I was still virtually skating. At one point I was surrounded by traffic and I started to slide. I managed to stop the slide, but I think I peed a little.

Part of the problem with drivers in Idaho is that most of them are from California. It is my snarky opinion that Californians living in Idaho have the trifecta of poor driving traits:

1. They have a strong sense of entitlement and the road? Well, it's theirs.
2. They drive GREAT. BIG. TRUCKS and drive thisclose to the car in front of them because the world? Yeah, that's theirs, too. Oh, and it starts at the end of thier noses.
3. They are impervious to inclement weather that might make their large vehicle an instrument of death. You know. They are from California so, like, DUH.

OK - so those are total over-generalizations and probably largely inaccurate, but the next time you drive for two hours across the frozen tundra with bright lights and a California license plate in your review mirror then we'll discuss my prejudice. Until then? Shut it.

Luckily, the snow melted because I lost my voice on the way in from yelling "Ass hat" at the crazies.

And you thought I was just being melodramatic.

Everyone seems to think I am kidding when I say that all things bad, frustrating, financially devastating and/or otherwise craptastic happen to me in December. Here is an example:

Monday, December 3
- Driving to pick up husband's Christmas present.
- GET SPEEDING TICKET. (I must point out that my last speeding ticket was 3 cars ago.)
- Purchase present. Drive home...slowly.
- Arrive home to have husband say, "I have bad news." That's funny, sweetheart, because SO.DO.I.
- Husband informs me that our dryer...our not quite 2-year-old dryer...has gone into the light and is now on the fluff cycle in appliance heaven.
- Open bottle of vodka.

Tuesday, December 4
- Dad deposits Christmas money into my account.
- Write check to pay speeding ticket.
- Write check to appliance repair man for the priviledge of having his smiling face and visible butt-crack cross my thresh-hold.
- Have appliance repair man inform me that the cost to repair my dryer is more than the cost to replace my dryer.
- Write check to replace dryer.
- Have unexpected bill for medical services arrive.
- Write check to medical facility.
- Begin early planning stages of "The Great Toy Heist of 2007."

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Bah Humbug...with gusto.

Yeah...it's getting close to Christmas. Bah.

Every night for the last week I sat down and started to post. As you can tell, that little plan didn't work out so well. It was one of those weeks at work where the day just wasn't quite long enough. I was going to petition the government to create a 26-hour day as opposed to the current 24-hour model, but instead I just brought stuff home. Every night last week I would get home, eat dinner and log right back in to finish whatever I still had to do. I didn't hit the sheets before 1 a.m. a single night last week. The good news is: the week is over and I survived. The bad news is: next week is likely to be just as bad.

You would think that after a week like that I would spend the weekend sitting at home doing nothing. Yeah - I would normally think that, too. Instead, in what must have been an exhaustion fueled psychosis, I decided to go to the Christmas Expo with Eric, Drew and one of my friends. For someone who doesn't really like Christmas it was sort of like walking into the 7th circle of Hell. If I had need for handmade quilts, handmade soaps, handmade clothes, handmade toys, handmade ornaments, the world's best salsa, a chiropractic adjustment or Avon then I was in the right place.

So - here is basically the Christmas expo in a nutshell -

1. Take really large building.
2. Add about 600 booths filled with a random assortment of items no one would ever even think about buying the other 11 months of the year.
3. Add a minimum of $10 to the price of everthing.
4. Fill building with about 5000 people - preferable really old, really young or really fat people with no sense of direction or a realization that they share the world with other people.
5. Sprinkle in at least 500 women with double strollers.
6. Crank heater to simulate a sunny day in Jamaica.
7. Play the most irritating Christmas music you can find.

That describes my afternoon. I was run into, stepped on, pushed, shoved, glared at and basically abused all in the name of Christmas spirit. Whee!

Oh, yeah...I also had to keep up with Drew and he was truly amazed at all of the really.cool.stuff. they kindly provided for us to buy. You mean all we have to do is give them some of that, what do you call it, Mom? Money? Well, in that case I want one of these, and one of those, and one of those things over there and...huh?...my $12.00 of allowance won't buy that four-wheeler? Well, just front me a loan then. Sheesh.

We didn't get the four-wheeler even though it would've been cool. Instead we got a PVC-pipe "gun" that shoots marshmallows and some homemade bread and a bracelet and a stuffed dog. I managed to stop myself before I bought the Western wall hanging made out of rope. *sigh* I hope I can survive without it.

Beware the Ferrets.

I was talking to a couple of coworkers today about my complete and utter horror of the holidays. It begins right about the time the Halloween sugar high subsides and it ends right about the same time as my New Years hangover.

The reason I mention this is that I started thinking about why I hate and/or am afraid of certain things. I am terrified of spiders. Completely, utterly, incredibly, beyond all sense of reason driven insane at the mere sight of a spider. It doesn't matter the size. Size of a dinner plate or size of a pencil eraser - I am equally convinced they are deadly and out to get me. I have no idea why I am afraid of them. It might have something to do with the grand-daddy longlegs my brother used to throw at me when we were kids. I am not sure though...my therapist never decided.

That reminisence led me to my fear of ferrets. Oh,shut up. They may not have eight legs and venom, but they have those beady little eyes and those little scratchy feet and...shudder...it squicks me out. This, however, is one fear I can vividly recall the origin of.

I was about 4 or 5 and my Mom and I stopped at the pet store. I have no idea what we went there for and I don't remember if we actually got what we went to get, but I DO remember the ferrets. They were in these big wire cages on the floor and I thought they were so cute. Like little kitties and I was immediately fascinated by them and I bee-lined for those adorable little creatures because I was FOUR and that's what little kids do and it isn't my fault that the pet store manager (who obviously had no children) put the cages where I could reach them because they were so cute and I really wanted one and "Mommy, can I have one? Huh? 'Cause they are the cutest things ever. Even cuter than my Cabbage Patch Doll and I really want one..."

...AND THEN...

I.Stuck.My.Finger.Through.The.Bars.

And the ferret did what any animal would do if a small, crunchy, human finger came through the bars of their prison cell....he bit me.

I screamed.
The ferret shrieked the shriek of an animal possessed and bit harder.
I screamed louder and proceeded to yank my finger as I hard as I could trying desperately to get it back.
That, of course, resulted in the ferret having his head bashed against the bars of the cage.

SO - I am screaming and systematically beating the evil ferret senseless and the store manager is yelling at me stop yanking on my finger and killing the merchandise and my Mom is yelling at the store manager to stop yelling at me and scaring the piss out of me because "for Christ sake she is already terrified so stop with the yelling already" and finally the ferret loses consciousness and his grip loosens.

Sweet relief.

Apparently, ferrets get some form of lockjaw when they bite. It is some kind of defense mechanism they can't really control. Precisely why ALL pet store owners should put them well within reach of the patrons most likely to stick their finger through the cage bars...that Ass Goblin pet store owner has earned my eternal wrath.

I didn't get the ferret, but I did get a lollipop and a lifelong fear of those beady-eyed little suckers. I swear this is a true story. Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up.

I sure hope crazy is the new black. I'd love to be cool again.

What a fun holiday weekend. One of my very, very best friends in the whole world came to spend a few days in Drewville - it's sort of like Margaritaville only with less margarita and more Star Wars figures. Katie is single and childless and there came a moment when I was certain she was going to do bodily harm to me or possibly herself for being dragged into the fray. Drew is a handful and it becomes even more obvious when we have guests...or maybe I just become more aware of it.


Before I met Eric and decided I.Had.To.Procreate. I was the girl voted least likely to be impregnated. It drove me batshit crazy to be around small, sticky, wailing children. I had a very good friend that had four kids and as much as I loved/love those kiddos and as quickly as I would have jumped in front of a bus for those little stinkers I was still regularly driven to the liquer cabinet after mere moments of entering the room with them.

The most amazing thing to me was how my friend could ignore them. Not ignore in an "oh crap I forgot to feed them" kind of way, but more of a "that is the 87th time in five minutes she said that and I can no longer hear her" way. She and I would have a conversation and the entire time one of the kids would be crawling on her, pulling on her clothes, asking her a question, bringing her things to open/close/look at, etc and she never missed a beat in the conversation. In the end it was pointless since I missed the whole conversation because I was too fascinated by the Mom-auto-pilot to hear what she was saying.


Now that I am the proud Mama of a very active almost five-year old it seems I have developed that same talent. Only, my powers are weakened when others enter my orbit. I can totally keep track when it is just me and Eric, but I can't seem to stay focused with others. I get distracted because I can see the look on my friend's face as I open the juice, open the wrapper, change the channel, start the movie, pause the movie, tell him where the stuffed horse is and put the cap on the marker. My conversations probably sound like some kind of bizarre performance art and all that is missing is a haze of cigarette smoke and enormous cups of cappuccino.

"Yes, Katie, my job is going great and I really like it there. I said to keep the fingerpaints in the kitchen."

"Oh yeah. Eric is still playing hockey and his team is doing so much better this season. No more caffiene this close to bedtime."

"I really wish you would move here, Katie, because we would have so much fun hanging out together all the time. You are big enough to wipe your own butt."

I think Katie went back to Portland with a newly invigorated love of her childless existence and a strong desire for a long nap. Between the copious amounts we drank during our Alcoholiday and the constant whirlwind that is Drew I am pretty certain we wore poor Katie out.

I do have to say though - I love being a Mom even if it does make my existence a bit crazy. I heard a rumor that crazy is the new black.

Is there a Thanksgiving equivalent to Bah-Humbug?

It is no secret that I am not a fan of the holidays. I would bet money that my friends are totally sick of hearing me talk about how much I don't like the holidays and how I always get all anxious and rude and nasty about this time of year. I know...I know...I am rude and nasty during other times of the year, but the holidays generate a special brand of rude and nasty.

So I am at the bank yesterday depositing a check that is soon to be sucked up by the retail machine that is "the holidays" and the guy helping me says,

"Happy Thanksgiving! Do you have some really great plans for tomorrow?"

"No. I hate Thanksgiving."

"Really? You hate Thanksgiving?" At this point he has ceased to make eye contact.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, there is only one thing I hate more than I hate Thanksgiving."

"What is that?"

"Christmas."

It was then that the poor guy behind the counter must have decided I was the anti-Christ because he gingerly placed my receipt on the counter and pulled his hand away and mumbled something like "burn in hell" or "have a nice day" or something like that. Clearly, any direct contact with me would be akin to touching the Devil.

I love scaring the holiday cheer out of unsuspecting strangers. It is the one thing I DO like about the holidays.

My Kid Beat Up Your Honor Student

The last few weeks have been difficult in the child rearing department. Drew keeps getting into trouble at school for hitting the other kids. Of course, no one seems to be able to determine who started the hitting and Drew insists that it certainly wasn't him because everyone knows he is Gandhi reincarnated and would never in a million years open a can of whup-ass upon his peers because he is all about peace and love and is actually considering a hunger strike until these heinous and false accusations cease.

We went to the grocery store the other day and they have a "playland" where you can leave the kiddos while you shop. Drew loves it there because they have movies and coloring books and lots of toys to play with. When I picked him up after completing my shopping the attendant informed me that Drew and another boy got in trouble for choking each other. Yet again, my stealthy Ninja child managed to avoid detection at the outset and there is no proof of who started it. At that moment I realized that maybe my "let them eat cake" parenting style might not be the best way to go.

Drew is no longer allowed to play his favorite video games. No more World of Warcraft, no more first person shooter games, no more violent video games of any kind. We have even hidden his light sabers in hopes that he will stop taking a whack at everything within arms reach. I guess the fact that Drew always insists on shooting the good guys in all those games should have been a red flag, but honestly I just thought it was funny. Bad Mommy.

We also had to take away a good number of his favorite movies. No more Star Wars movies, no more Transformers, no more War of the Worlds. It was a sad day for the little man. Now he informs everyone who will listen that he is only able to watch Disney movies until he learns not to unleash violence on his friends. I have to tell you that it cracks me up to hear my not-quite-five-year-old use the phrase "unleash violence." I especially love it when he tells complete strangers because as a parent nothing beats watching someone you don't know go through the internal battle over whether or not the authorities should be contacted because clearly if your child says things like "unleash violence" and then giggles you must be a parent in need of intervention.

On a brighter note - Eric and I got a sitter so we can go on a date. With each other. Alone. Whee! Now, anyone who knows us is aware that we go out a fair amount, but it is usually to a party with friends instead of just the two of us. This will actually be exciting to go out and spend some time together. It also means we have to figure out how to carry on a conversation without Drew to help us out. Gee. I sure hope we can manage it.

Off and Away...Flying the a Bit too Friendly Skies

Today begins a week of travel. That may sound fun, and sometimes it is, but for me it ends up being a nightmare of epic proportions. The airlines are on to me and immediately upon seeing my name on a passenger manifest the flight is unceremoniously delayed. It's a conspiracy. I know it.

Today I am off to Las Vegas and I am going to stay at a hotel I haven't stayed at before. Vegas is a regular trip these days since my company has a big client there. This trip we are staying at the Paris Las Vegas. I hope I get a view of the fountains at Bellagio. That would rock...but, since the airlines have a conspiracy going I am sure the hotel mafia is in on it, too. Last time I stayed in a hotel in Vegas we had a view of an alley and the neighboring hotel. Whee! I kept looking out the window in hopes of a peep show from one of the rooms across the way, but yet again...denied.

The rest of the week is comprised of Portland and Seattle. I'll keep you posted on how those two cities treat me. I am sure Seattle will be good to me since I consistently profess my undying love for the lakes, bridges, mountains and yes...even the rain. I can't wait to move back there someday. I am already plotting. Can't you just hear my evil cackle? I've been working on it so you betta recognize.

Can I just pause for a moment to point out that airports crack me up? I especially love how even on airlines with assigned seats the second they call your flight everyone is jumping up and standing in line. Why? Why - I ask again? You have your very own seat. The plane won't leave you. In a very short minute we are all going to be sitting thisclosetogether so why are you leaping up to rush into the cylinder of personal space invasion? We are all going to get there at the same time. I.Guarantee.It. Would I lie? Of course not.

I also love how everyone sits around trying their best to look at everyone else without actually looking at everyone else. That is my favorite part. I amuse myself by looking directly at everyone and when they catch me looking I wink. You can tell a lot about a person just by their reaction to that wink. They guys either look disturbed that I would dare wink or you can see the internal battle start..."Is she flirting? Does she want me to talk to her? Should I wink back? Look away? Fart?"

I also really love the ladies who are decked out in full hair and makeup. Now...the ladies in business suits are exempt from my ridicule because I have been that girl in full hair and make up with a suit because I was traveling for one day of meetings and then right back home. It's the ones in jeans and stiletto boots and enough makeup to outfit an entire cheerleading squad on Homecoming night that really crack me up. If I had my camera I would post a picture of one such creature. The best part about this particular specimen is the fact that she is 50ish and is dressed like a 25-year old tart. I mean come on...I appreciate fighting old age and all that, but there is a more graceful way to fight for Christ's sake. Chiseling off some of that makeup and covering your tits is a fine place to start if you ask me.

Not that you did ask me, but since when do I keep my trap shut about such things? Never. That's when. What makes you think I would start now?

Silly reader.

Besides...I know that you appreciate me in all my smart assedness and you lurv me precisely because I say exactly what I think even if it ends in embarrassment. Specifically if it ends in MY embarrassement.

UPDATE:
First leg of trip from Boise to Portland - ON TIME leaving and ON TIME arriving. Whee!!
Second leg of trip from Portland to Seattle - LATE. LATE. LATE. Still in Portland praying to the Gods of the airline for some miracle to take place because I have a dinner meeting at 6:30 and at this rate I am not gonna be there. And I was so looking forward to that steak. Dammit.

I am WAY too sick for this...

Drew and I are both under the weather today and stayed home. What that basically means is that I feel like crap and I am trying to work from my recliner in the living room while Drew, who had a miracle recovery at noon, is running around the house beating the cats with his light sabers. Do I have to tell you that I have a headache?

Since I am normally at work at this time of day I have been fairly sheltered from the commercials for products aimed at the kid crowd. Today the television has been on in the background all day because I am trying to use it as a hypnosis tool for Drew. I keep hoping that on one of his stealth missions to beat the cats into submission he will be mesmerized by something on the television and will stop running and/or yelling for five seconds. So far the only things that the television has managed to do are 1. keep me from getting work done and 2. create a deep-seated desire to run out and firebomb the toy companies.

Before I managed to clear my congested head enough to get out of bed this morning I turned on the tv in the bedroom for Drew to watch. It buys me a few extra minutes to finish whatever dream I might have been having before shuffling into the shower.
These days the dreams consist of me somewhere quiet...preferably warm...and occasionally David Aebischer is there wearing goalie gear and a smile...but, I digress.

My point is that I was lying there trying to hang on to a few more seconds of Hot Goalie and a commercial crept into my consciousness. A commercial for Bratz.


I know that girls have played with dolls since the dawn of time, but since when did we start manufacturing, marketing and selling prostitute dolls? Have you seen these things? It's truly disturbing that someone thought these things up, sold the idea to someone else, got the money to make them and then someone actually looked at it and went, "Hey!!! This is the perfect thing for my 8-year old daughter because I am really sick of that whole third grade thing and wish she would just hurry up and start looking like a tramp already."

It was bad enough when we were giving little girls baby dolls that cried and peed and burped. I mean...how confusing is that? Starting when girls are practically babies themselves society begins teaching them to take care of babies and be all maternal and then society issues a mass gasp when young girls get pregnant and have babies. Yeah - I know you are thinking I am all "women are oppressed," but I'm not. Honest. I just wish dolls didn't have to cry and pee. It's fifteen kinds of creepy.

Now, instead of teaching them to be maternal we are teaching them to be little hookers. Whee! These freakin' dolls have on the entire Maybelline makeup line applied via trowel and dress with almost as much class as Britney.

Low cut blouse? Check.
Push-up bra? Check.
Ass cheeks peeking out bottom of skirt? Check.
Stripper heels? Check.
Giant bug-like sunglasses? Check.

Next thing you know they will start selling Bratz dolls with ripped fishnets and a pack of Marlboro Reds. Let's take a look at some examples.

This particular Bratz must have had a long night on the corner and really just wants to kick those Payless Shoes buy-one-trashy-pair-get-one-free high heels off and smoke her crack in peace because, Damn! She worked hard for the 20 bucks to buy that rock so just step off.



I am not exactly sure what this Bratz is supposed to be. I think this could be Dominatrix Bratz or Call Girl Bratz as opposed to the aforementioned Prostitute Bratz. She doesn't look quite as...ahem...tired as the Bratz in that last picture. She must have the cash for the good kind of pre-trick "pick me up"...sniff...if you know what I...sniff...mean....sniff.



So, now I am on copious amounts of cold medicine, trying to work, keep the cats from meeting an untimely death AND trying to erase images of Bratz dolls coming to life and taking over the world like some kind of scantily-clad, un-dead army of vapid souls.

Oh, wait. That already happened...I think they call them "the Class of 2010." I think I need to just go back to sleep and see if I can find David Aebischer.

Halloween and Rubber Ducks

I am finally posting Halloween pictures. I am sorry for the delay. I have been trying to think of some funny moment from Halloween night, but nothing comes to mind. I have no funny at the moment. Friday night I slept wrong on my neck and now, two days later, I still can't look to my left. Drew is having a field day with that. He keeps misbehaving, but only on my left. It's driving me insane.

As if being virtually crippled isn't enough - now I have a cold. It has been threatening me for days and yesterday it kicked in with gusto. I feel very edgy and the fact that I keep getting taunted from my left by a small, blurry child is not helping my mood any. The next time he runs by giggling at my failed attempt to look and the resulting profanity I might trip him. I think this is some form of training, but I am not real sure who is the trainer and who is the trainee.

Despite the icky cold, we spent last night and today painting the guest room. It looks like we slaughtered a large animal of some kind in there. I hope that it looks better once it dries completely and we get it all put back together. I decided a few weeks ago that we needed to move it from upstairs to downstairs so that our poor guests didn't have to sleep 20 feet from our bedroom. It makes you feel like you have to be uncomfortably quiet. Granted, they will probably have nightmares and will fear for their lives in the Room of Death, but at least they can scream freely.

The upside to my weekend? I got a rubber duck. A pink one. As if that wasn't cool enough? It lights up! Whee!

Truth in Advertising

It is a well known fact among parents that "special alone time" is hard to come by. I don't know about everyone else's children, but my little progeny has this weird radar that notifies him each and every time Eric and I even THINK about getting up close and personal. He has successfully maintained his status as an only child. Even if we wanted another child it is virtually impossible to create one.



Last night Eric and I managed to put Drew to bed at a relatively normal hour and he immediately fell asleep. That alone is some kind of a miracle. We normally have multiple "tuck ins" because immediately upon lying in his bed Drew is hungry, thirsty and has to pee. Must be the down in his pillow.

Anyway, Drew fell asleep immediately (NO I did't spike his juice with Benadryl - how dare you suggest such a thing?!). We were alone! Whee! No little Drew feet in the small of my back! Double Whee!! The funny, and just a little bit sad, thing is that instead of taking carnal advantage of this alone time we ended up having a conversation. An actual conversation that was void of all the little interruptions that come with having an inquisitive 4-year old observer.

"Mom, why is Dad's computer game assinine?"
"Mom, what does assinine mean?"
"Mom, why are we going to rob Peter?"
"Mom, who is Paul and why do we have to pay him?"



Adult conversation is hard to come by in our house and you would think we would take advantage of these little moments. Instead you get conversations like the one we had last night:

"Honey, do you think I am so fat that it is gross? 'Cause I feel really gross."

"I never think you are gross sweetie. I think you are gorgeous."

"You have to say that because you're my husband."

"No. I get to tell you the truth because I am your husband and I don't think you are fat. I certainly don't think you are gross."

"It's just that I feel like I landed this really gorgeous guy and it just blows my mind because I'm fat."

"You. Are. Not. Fat."

"Well, I just don't understand why you to picked me. I mean, you're all hot and stuff and could get any girl you wanted. You are really gorgeous and well, I'm not. How did I get you to pick me?"

"You put out."

Ahhhh....True Love.

Testosterone on Ice!!

Drew got his first pair of ice skates for Christmas just before he turned 2. Looking back, the skates were as cute as could be, but it wasn't the smartest purchase we've ever made. He wore them about 4 times and he had already grown out of them. The kid is like a weed! I think I may have surpassed them several times over in the "not such a smart purchase" category. Let's just say that I have been known to make impulse purchases from time to time and those little hockey skates are a prime example.



A few months later, and with slightly smarter parents, Drew got to pick out his second pair of skates. We bought them at the used sports equipment store. They were a little beat up, but they were a perfect fit and they were CHEAP! I love cheap! Whee! In a couple of weeks we have to go and buy his 3rd pair of skates. The kid just won't stop growing despite my best efforts. He's like a puppy - ALL FEET!



Over the last couple of years Drew has taken several skating classes and he is a pretty good skater. He tends to be timid which is surprising since he has no qualms about sliding down a big, snowy hill with sticks on his feet. I suppose if I were wearing shoes with blades on the bottom and standing on ice I would be timid, too (Actually - he is less timid than me so I should probably shut up). He seems to do better when he skates with Eric so we decided to stop putting him in classes and just have Eric teach him. That whole male-bonding thing seems to actually work in this case. Once he is ready for actual hockey then we will go back to classes since hockey obviously requires multiple kids and I'll be damned if I am going to keep having kids for the sake of hockey.



Eric was about 7 when he started playing hockey and he has loved it ever since. He plays several times a week to this day and has visions of Drew hoisting the Stanley Cup. Before Drew could even walk I would hear all about how he was going to teach Drew to skate and then coach his hockey teams and how awesome that would be. I just smiled and nodded and started planning better ways to layer my outfits so that I didn't freeze to the bleachers in the rink. I am STILL working on that one and we practically live at the hockey rink. It's pure luck that I still have all my toes and fingers.



All I know is that Drew has got to be the cutest thing on ice and it is so much fun to sit and watch him and Eric out there skating together. I can already picture the days when Drew is skating circles around his old, decrepit Dad! Hee! In the meantime I suppose Drew and I will just keep cheering Eric on in his hockey games!

A Room Full of Heart Disease

OK - so I don't really consider myself a snob. Maybe other people would argue, but as far as snobs go I would count myself on the lower end of the scale. As a smartass I am well on my way to world champion caliber, but I don't consider myself a snob. The reason for this disclaimer is that I am about to embark upon a snobby post and I want it to be viewed as an anomoly of my character. Seriously - I am only snobby about a couple of things. Wine is one of them. I can't really remember the other one, but I am sure it is something entirely innocent. Really.

I am sure you are wondering at this point what I could possibly unleash a diatribe of snobbishness regarding??

I have two words for you: GOLDEN CORRAL

For some reason, Drew has decided that Golden Corral is the Best. Restaurant. Ever. I think it is actually my fault because when I was pregnant I could only eat potatos and since that didn't work all that well for Eric we would go to Golden Corral so he could get some semblance of real food. I paid those people a lot of money for their mashed potatos. And baked potatos. And french fries. But, it kept Eric from subsisting on a steady diet of starch and therefore we were both pretty happy with the set-up.

I actually think that part of the reason Drew likes it so much is he is Mr. Independent. He wants to be able to pick his own dinner - even if all he ever does is push it around his plate and poke at it and wait for me to tell him to "eat a bite of something that isn't made of refined sugar" or "there are starving babies in Africa" or "if you don't eat that right now I swear you will eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner until every last bite is gone."

I suppose it adds an element of excitement if the food he gets and doesn't eat is food that we are paying too much for. I also think he gets some kind of sick glee out of making me sound like a *gulp* parent instead of the cool, hip 30-something I really am.

Moving on...

It is time for the snobbishness to commence.

Have any of you been to Golden Corral? On a Sunday morning? If not, don't. If you have, I'm sorry.

Sunday at Golden Corral is...let me see if I can accurately describe it...it is like a trailer park filled with obscenely overweight people has taken a field trip to the land o'breakfast a'plenty.

I know. That is mean, but I accepted long ago that my ticket to hell has been purchased. It's first class. Bite me.

We watched a man that had to weigh slightly more than 400 pounds sit down on his chairs at the table with two plates of food. One plate was entirely devoted to meat. Bacon, pork chops, ham and sausage. It was a freakin' mountain of meat that would make any self-respecting carnivore proud. The second plate had corned beef hash, some hash browns and eggs. I was somewhat proud of the eggs because those are really healthy comparatively speaking. I would have actually congratulated him, but I was afraid of being sucked into his gravitational pull and being forced to orbit indefinitely.

It actually made me nauseated and effectively led to my eating healthy portions of healthier food. No sausage for me, thanks. I just can't believe that one person could eat...no, wants to eat...that much food. I swear I heard the faint sound of his heart screaming..."help me! heelllpp me!" like that fly in that movie that I know I should know the name of, but can't seem to think of at this moment. I suppose I am still slightly dizzy from the sight of that mountain of meat.

I just don't think I have ever gone to any other restaurant that is absolutely filled to the brim with fat people sporting poor oral hygiene. At first I thought - ok...they come here to fill up because they appear to be budgetarily challenged and you get all you can eat from salad to dessert. Then I realized that they are also all fat so they must be eating pretty good. And often.

I also realize the irony in my blog because I am lamenting all the fat, seemingly poor people at Golden Corral and I only know they are there because I was there. I get the irony. No need to shout. I'm just sayin'. Jeez.

Is this the fast lane or a single's bar?

I was driving home from work tonight and I had one of those experiences that really made me question the sanity of people. I was going to say "people who drive" or "people who commute" or "people who drive monster trucks," but it is really just people in general.

Let me set the scene:

I am in rush hour traffic on the interstate. There is construction. I am doing approximately 20 miles per hour and that speed is entirely based upon the lady in the car in front of me and her ability to drive while putting on her make-up.

In my rearview mirror I see a very large truck coming up the lane next to me. The lane that is ending at the exact spot I am residing. He whips in right behind me and proceeds to ride my bumper. Honestly, I had to avert my eyes. I actually started wondering if I should just give him my bumper to consumate the relationship he was clearly having with the shiny chrome of my trailer hitch.

I imagine the "romancing" process was a bit like getting hit on at a bowling alley. It goes something like this:

White truck: "Hey baby. How about we have a beer and then go f**k or do you not drink?"
-- note: I imagine someone who looks like a cross between David Hasselhoff and the neighbor Larry from Three's Company. Gold chains. Doused with Polo. Mullet. --

My bumper: "Are you really hitting on me...and...did I just fall through a wormhole to 1987?"

White truck: "What's your problem, bit*h? You too good for me? Huh? I'll show you who's too good for who you snotty bit*h."

My bumper: "Seriously? You want to show me something? So long as it isn't your hairy chest peeking through that Izod shirt you're sportin' then you can show me whatever you want there, Chief."

Ahhh...memories...ahem...sorry. Had a flashback there.

At about this point Mr. Wizard begins to flash his brights at me. Let me give you a little logistics lesson...I am in bumper to bumper traffic. Both lanes are filled to capacity for as far as the eye can see. I can't change lanes. I can't go faster. I suppose I could have slowed down, but that may have driven Captain Cerebral into a light flashing frenzy and I could have had a seizure from the strobe effect so I refrained. Hey...my personal safety was at stake and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do!

After a while General Genuis backed off and waited for some unsuspecting victim in the other lane to create a gap wide enough for him to squeeze into. He then changed from one lane to the next depending on which appeared to be moving faster. The great footnote to this story? I actually ended up passing him by staying in the lane I started in and doing the speed limit.

Go figure.

Apparently golf is a contact sport

Friday was a charity golf scramble that my company is a very large sponsor of. I played in it last year and, if you read my blogs, you know that it didn't go very well. This year I was more prepared and was really looking forward to it. Unfortunately it was cold and rainy...but, we can suffer a bit for charity. Right?!

Last year I wrote an entire blog about my golf game - or lack thereof. This year I had a much better game, but yours truly managed to dislocate my kneecap. I would love to tell you about some grand event where I drove for 250 yards and hit a hole in one. But alas, I was jogging to the golf cart.

Jogging. To. The. Golf. Cart.

Here is the aftermath of my dangerous mission to the 18th green:

Isn't it the most beautiful big, black leg brace you have ever seen?

Oh, yeah... and how do you like my new tattoo?

What you can't see about the brace is that this beautiful fashion accessory goes all the way up to mid-thigh and it is dressed up with lots and lots of velcro.

I keep getting stuck to the furniture.

It's glorious.

It is also locked so that I can't bend my knee. That is my favorite part. Since I can put weight on it - but can't bend it - I am walking around the house looking like a cast member from The Return of the Living Dead.

I did manage to play out the remaining holes and our team was only 1 over par so it wasn't a total bust. I guess it was a bad choice; however, because walking around on it just made it worse and now I actually have to go back to the orthopedic doc. Could this be knee surgery number 3 I sense looming on the horizon?

Good times. Good times.

I spent all day yesterday with good drugs and video games. I am officially in love with Guitar Hero. Eric is now using my lapse in judgement as proof that we must. Buy. X-Box. 360. Immediately.

I regularly make fun of Eric for playing video games and "gamers" in general are frequent receipients of my fun poking. When it comes to Guitar Hero I get lots and lots of material from the fact that they actually hold competitions. Since I consider making fun of "gamers" to be an actual sport it is a gold mine of material. The competitions are a strange combination of jaw-droppingly hysterical and really, really sad. I just can't get over the fact that if the Guitar Hero competitors put as much time into learning to play a real guitar as they do into learning to play a video game they could very possibly be in an actual band. But...moving on...

Today Drew and I are watching television and generally just hanging out. Since Drew has lost his video game "crack" fix he is acting out all of the light saber fights from the Star Wars movies. Also jaw-droppingly hysterical and really, really sad. And so you don't think I am evil for calling my son sad I want to point out that the hysterical part is Drew's unique rendition of each battle and the sad part is the fact that his Star Wars obsession was created by his Dad. He'll never admit it, but Eric could probably act out the light saber fights, too.

Here is a small sampling of Drew's light saber expertise:


He takes his Star Wars VERY seriously so back slowly away and no sudden movements.











Drew gives us his best "Magnum" face as he prepares to pull the light saber from his Armpit Holster.







Don't mess with the Jedi-extraordinaire.









I think Drew really appreciates the fact that in my gimpy state I make an easier target and because I am medicated I am less likely to argue with him when he stages Star Wars battle number 3 from Return of the Jedi where Luke Skywalker fights Darth Vader for control of the Death Star.

I have survived the knee injury and the round of golf...now I just have to survive the Drew. Wish me luck and bring on the narcotics!!

Pick your battles, Mom.

Once I became a Mom I realized how few things in this world we actually control. There was a period of time that I truly believed I was the master of my own destiny and everything that happened to me was my choice. Nice try, right?

Now I realize how much impact the rest of the world has on my life. The road rage drivers, the flaky co-workers, the incompetent "customer service" person at AT&T...each and every one of them has some impact on my day. Damn them. Eventually you realize that there are those things you choose to fight about and those things you don't.

Last weekend Drew and I went on a wild Saturday shopping spree where we bought everything from golf shoes to Halloween costumes and we had an absolute blast. Granted, Drew lost interest sometime between the checkout at Toys R'Us and the car, but that is totally beside the point. At no point did he have a temper tantrum and refuse to let me unclick the seat belt to take him out of the car. Ahhh....small victories.

Anyway, the next day we had a few more errands to run and Drew, immediately upon waking, decreed that he was going to wear his Batman costume for the day. I thought about it for approximately 2.4 seconds and realized how easy Decree #2,389 from the Throne of Drew was to accomodate. SO...off we went...me and Batman...

The girls at Starbucks thought it was hysterical. Once Drew decided to roll down his window and "fight" other motorists it became clear that anyone who has a child realizes that the wearing of the Halloween costume on non-Halloween days is one of those fights not worth fighting. I got lots of honks, waves, laughs and knowing grins.

It was actually awesome because for the whole day my little man was a rock star super hero and I haven't grinned for that many consecutive hours in a really long time.

Thank you Drew...

Drew and his alter-ego

This morning I had the opportunity to sit down with Drew’s pre-K teacher. She wanted to know if we thought Drew was enjoying class. I told her that we have far less of the early morning temper tantrums on school days so that seemed to indicate some level of enjoyment on his part. I think he prefers to sit at home and play video games all day instead of engaging in more noble pursuits like education, but he is no longer steadfastly refusing to leave the house. Don't get me wrong - Drew is a great kid. He is just stubborn and of course it has nothing to do with me being stubborn - how dare you suggest such a thing.


His teacher told me that Drew is doing great in class. He is a very sweet kid who is quite popular with his classmates. He listens well, he picks up after himself and she rarely has to talk to him about the same mis-behaviors twice.

Huh? Did I hear that correctly?

ME: “Where is this wondrous creature of which you speak? Are you sure you know which kid is mine?”
HER: “Why, of course I do. Drew is a great kid.”
ME: “Hmmm. Do you think you could introduce me?”

For about 30 seconds I am convinced she thought I was serious. She did that quick room scan thing looking for help. I laughed to put her out of her misery.


It simply amazes me how a kid that repeatedly kamikaze leaps from the coffee table to the recliner despite many missed landings and a couple of spankings will suddenly revert to a different human the second he is out of my sight. I have this mental picture of Drew saying things like, “Of course I shant misbehave dear care provider. I believe I shall quietly play with this educational toy. If you require my attention simply ask and I shall immediately acquiesce to your request.”

At home it is closer to, “Whadaya want parental unit? I’m busy here. Can’t you see that Lego Luke Skywalker is trying to destroy the Death Star? Go away and come back when I’m done or I’ll call Guido to take out your kneecaps.”


I’ll tell you what though – that kid is a spitfire and I wouldn’t change that. He’s as mouthy as me. Apparently - my Dad informed me with glee - I was just as mouthy at four as Drew is. Is that the karma wheel I hear a’spinnin’?

I never said we were normal...

I am not sure we classify as the traditional American family. Actually, I don't think there really is a traditional American anything these days so I suppose I shouldn't spend too much time and energy lamenting our non-traditionalism. Our evenings tend to revolve around some form of electronic entertainment (i.e. computer, television, etc.) instead of board games at the kitchen table. No, we aren't exactly Leave It To Beaver or Father Knows Best around here. I would say we are somewhere between the Simpsons and the Bundys - just without the animation or Christina Applegate in spandex.

Tonight I actually made it home before 10 p.m. due to an eye exam at 5. I had to re-schedule the stupid thing four times before I actually went. I'm not great with that whole "taking care of myself" thing. I usually wait until symptoms reach epic proportions before taking time away from work to have it checked out. That may be why I am down two (apparently extraneous) organs...but, that is a blog for another day.

Anyhoo...we ate dinner and then went for a walk around the neighborhood so Drew could ride his bike. I am tempted to feel all puffed up and proud of our family togetherness, but the ulterior motive was to wear the kid out so that Eric and I might actually get to go to bed ALONE(nudge nudge wink wink). I used to think that when people made comments about having kids and then never having sex they were joking. Well, the joke was on me because there is a reason we only have one kid. No better birth control. On. The. Planet.

So, after our little family foray into the world of *gasp* exercise, we retreated to the living room and proceeded to do what we normally do:

I put on ear phones, opened up the laptop and worked on all the stuff I didn't get finished while in the office today.

Drew and Eric played video games on the big ass t.v. until Drew got bored and then...

Drew proceeded to beat the crap out of Eric. I suppose that'll teach Eric the dangers of showing Drew how to do the "Corporate Elbow." That little experiment in boy bonding has seriously backfired! The upside is that with one well-placed shot we can save the $200 deductible on Eric's vasectomy. Needless to say, I always root for the Drew-man when these little battles ensue.

Board games? How we scoff at thee...

Fat, Lazy Sunday

I love lazy Sundays. Those weekends where you have nothing to do but sit in front of the television watching old 80s movies on TBS are the absolute best. On this particular lazy Sunday I ended up curling up in bed with my stuffed elephant (don’t judge) and watching The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the team.

Having grown up in Texas and being a dancer I was always fascinated by the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders(DCC). I may have mentioned at some point that I was on a drill team in high school and went into college expecting to major in dance. Luckily, or unluckily depending on perspective, it turns out I am a terrible choreographer and I quickly changed my major. But anyway, becoming a DCC was the epitome in all that was dancer awesomeness and that is what I wanted to be when I grew up. Obviously, as soon as I saw a television show about the DCC I was immediately hooked.

So, here we are on a lazy Sunday and I am happily watching the DCC when suddenly I got one of those reality checks that just sucked a large portion of my good cheer right out of the day. It all started with the Bod Pod.

See, the DCC wear what amounts to a bra and panties as their uniform (with boots of course. We can’t forget to mention the boots). Since they are jumping around and shaking their money-makers’ in front of thousands upon thousands of people on a regular basis it is clearly important for them to be fit. I learned during the newest episode that the average body fat percentage for any member of the DCC is 13%. Do you have any idea how fit 13% body fat is? Bear in mind that when I learned this particular fact I was lying in my bed doing absolutely nothing that could be mistaken for exercise using even the broadest definition. My point is these girls are thin. Fit and thin. Muscular and thin. Six-pack abs thin. Except for one.

There is one girl trying out for the team who was a good enough dancer and had the right personality to get invited to training camp. That alone is huge since they have about 2000 girls try out each year and only 43 get invites to training camp. On the second day of camp she gets pulled aside to be told that her mid-section is an “issue.” This girl looks fine to me – no six-pack, but certainly not even remotely fat. She takes the news pretty well, but before she makes it out of the locker room she is in tears. This is a girl that might be a size 6 on a bloated, PMS day! I was a size six once. I was still a freshman in college and I haven’t seen single digits since. Well, except for those days when I rest my foot on the digital scale as an alternative to actually standing on it…but, I digress…

The day after being told that her mid-section is an “issue” our "chubby" little friend is put into the dreaded Bod Pod and is informed that she is the heaviest person at training camp. How demoralizing! As a grown woman watching this show I am left feeling that I need to immediately run to the store for either laxatives or krill. (Krill, in case I confused you, is what whales eat.) I can only imagine what a teenage girl watching is going to think.

Now, before I have the torch bearing mob arrive at my door let me post a disclaimer: I totally understand the DCC is a unique group of women and they can’t stay elite unless they enforce high standards and their ability to be very fit is as critical to their success as it would be to someone like a Navy Seal. I get it. Put out the torches. I just want to point out that there are better ways to deal with such topics. Why tell her it is an “issue?” Why tell her she is the biggest girl at camp? I especially liked the part where Jay, the trainer, told her she is big-boned. Big-boned compared to what? A freakin’ blue jay?

In a prior episode they showed the first day of auditions and they did a montage of all the “fat” girls that showed up to try out. They put the footage together to look like the fatties were cut from the herd and put out on the floor together. I was humiliated just watching it. I was suddenly embarrassed that I ever dreamed I could be a DCC because I would certainly have been cut from the herd myself. Again, I am not saying that I want the DCC to lower their standards and start letting Rosie O’Donnell be squad leader, but I just hate the way the producers of the show cut it all together to emphasize the need to be thin. We know you have to be thin to dance in front of a stadium full of people while wearing next to nothing. I mean…DUH…

I suppose I just really want the world order to be dramatically altered in some fundamental way so that “womanly” is no longer a synonym for “fat.” I want women to be allowed to have curves – and that is NOT my synonym for fat. There is a real difference between a woman that is fat and one that is healthy and one that is just gross thin. Let’s take Grey’s Anatomy’s cast as a quick example: Ellen Pompeo – can we take up a collection to feed her? Katherine Heigl - healthy, but still not quite to reality proportions. Sara Ramirez - gorgeous and womanly. I love the fact that my husband thinks Sara Ramirez is the bomb-diggity. (Love ya, honey!) I love the fact that he thinks the super skinny girls are gross. It gives me hope even if it doesn’t entirely cure me of the deep-seated desire to get a tape-worm. As an aside, tape-worms get a bad rap, what with being a parasite and all, but I bet it won’t be long before Hollywood makes is a chic way to lose weight and still eat. I’m just sayin’.

I suppose none of this really has much to do with my lazy Sunday. I just felt morally obligated to take a stand for those of us who aren’t sporting six-pack abs. I would form a support group, but I was beat to the punch by Jenny Craig. Instead, I propose that we all get together and develop a plan for overthrowing the skinny bitch administration. How about Tuesday’s at Krispy Kreme?

Have guitar; will travel

There is a song that I absolutely love called "Breathe Me." I just seem to really relate to it – I have included the words for reference. It is sung by Sia and if you haven't heard it you should seriously track it down. You won't be sorry.

Help. I have done it again.
I have been here many times before.
Hurt myself again today.
And the worst part is there's no one else to blame

Be my friend. Hold me. Wrap me up. Unfold me.
I am small. And needy. Warm me up. And breathe me

Ouch. I have lost myself again.
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found.
Yeah, I think that I might break.
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe.

Be my friend. Hold me. Wrap me up. Unfold me.
I am small. And needy. Warm me up. And breathe me.

There are a lot of songs, books, movies, etc that I have related to over the years. This one, however, seems to strike a chord that I wasn't really aware existed in me. Or, maybe I did know and chose to ignore it until hearing this. Damn you Katie for making the introductions!!!

It just got me wondering about the people around us and how well the public face matches the private one. The people you think are confident and put together may, in fact, feel incredibly inept most of the time. They might just be really good fakers. I tend to let my make-up and hair do the talking. If I have my eyes done up and my hair straight and across my eye and a bit of cleavage showing then I am trying to show everyone that I am sexy and confident. What I am most likely feeling is way too old and fat to be wearing the outfit I have on while trying not to trip in my heels and have a boob jump out. If I am in jeans and my Longhorns hat then I am trying to show everyone that I am so confident that I can wear a ball cap and feel good about it because I am so cute and girl next door that everyone will love me no matter what I wear. It is probably more likely that I overslept and didn't have time to shower and still get Drew to school on time. My Longhorns hat has saved me on more than one occasion and yes; I'll admit it, sometimes there are consecutive hat days.

Notice how it all seems to revolve around showing the world how confident I feel. Well, no matter what outfit, makeup or image I put out there I am certainly not as confident as I would like everyone to think. I am a geek at heart and my self-esteem is entirely wrapped up in what other people think. Sad. I know. Sue me.

I think I just need to cut myself a little slack. Sure…I am a workaholic and I have no hobbies, but work can be a hobby, right? If you ask me what I did last night I will probably mumble something about how late nights are part of the job and then change the subject. I tend to stay in the office late and when I am not at my desk I am at home with the laptop fired up. I decided that it might be an issue when, on one of the rare days I left the laptop at the office, Drew walked up and asked me where my "homework" was. He was literally confused that I didn't have a computer in my lap. Maybe it's time to back slowly away from the computer and slow down a bit.

So…I decided that I needed a hobby. I tried cross-stich. No joy – I went cross-eyed, missed lots of squares and my dragon ended up looking like a newt. So, I thought about learning to knit, but those needles…well, they are pointy and I am fairly accident prone. I then decided that we needed a dog. I could train it and we could do dog agility (notice that it isn't owner agility…Mama didn't raise no fool) and it would be a blast. Eric asked me to list out the number of consecutive hours I am at home on any given day and then decide if I had time for a dog. We now own two cats and a lizard.

I ended up deciding to learn to play guitar.

As it turns out, Eric's friend had a guitar that he gave me. My boss just happens to have toured with a band for 10 years and is a guitarist. I decided that fate/karma/whatever had sent me a message/sign/smoke signal and I should learn guitar. Plus, my Mom learned to play when she was about my age and I just remember sitting on her bed listening to her play and sing. If I was a crier I might tear up just thinking about it so…moving on…

I start lessons on Tuesday night. I am really excited about it and hope that I don't suck at it. Actually, I don't really care if I suck at it because I am doing it for me and hopefully it will help me to find something that belongs to me. It is about more than just having a hobby. It is about having a part of ME that isn't tied to anyone else. It isn't subject to anyone's expectations of me. It has nothing to do with what someone else needs for me to do for them. It is mine and I think I really need that.

So, I'll keep you posted and I hope that before long I will be able to tell you that the Sia song, "Breathe Me" is just a really pretty song and leave it at that. Who knows, maybe I'll play it for you on my guitar.

Crushes

What attracts us to someone? Why does one person think someone is the most incredible person on the planet and for some reason the sentiment isn't returned? I am feeling all nostalgic today and this is the topic that came to mind…attraction – or the lack thereof.

Eric and I attended his 20-year high school reunion a couple of weeks ago. Over the course of the weekend, I met girl after girl after girl...after girl. They would all run up and give him a big hug and were clearly thrilled to see him again. I asked him later if he had dated any of them and he said no. It surprised me because of their individual reactions to seeing him. The funniest part was hearing Eric tell me that he wasn't a ladies' man; these were all "just friends" that he hung out with "all the time," but none of them could have possibly liked him "like that."

Ahhhh….men…so adorably clueless.

One of the women we met was very sweet and talked to me quite a bit. I asked Eric about her later because she seemed kind of melancholy in a way – not too unusual for 20-year reunion – but, it peaked my curiosity. Turns out she had a crush on him when they were in school. I asked how he knew that and he said that she told him about it way back then. Of course, I then wanted to know why he didn't like her back. He said he didn't really know. He "just didn't." "She was cute and all, but I just didn't feel that way about her." Hmmm…my point is made. She was cute and she liked him and he knew it, but he didn't like her back.

I remember a lot of people I had crushes on in high school and I don't think a single one of them ever liked me back. There was one person (Mike Allen) that I had a crush on from the 7th grade all the way through graduation. Even though I would say we were friends, he never once liked me back "like that." As an aside, I think this crush may stand as the world record of unrequited crushing. I suppose I'll never know why I felt that way or why he didn't. If I ever run into him I will have to ask. I hope he says "I don't know" because if he tells me my ass was big or I was a freakin' dorkasaurus rex it may be too much for the remaining portion of my fragile high school age ego to bear. The adult portion of my ego will just smile knowingly at what he missed out on.

Anyway, I think going to Eric's reunion made me actually look forward to my 20-year. I look forward to seeing all the old crushes and old friends and remembering what dorks we all were back then. Seriously, we listened to Vanilla Ice…how cool could we be?!

Now that I am a "grown up" I have crushes on a whole different kind of person. My three favorite crushes are my husband – who seriously could have any girl he wanted and he picked me; John Cusack – who can also have any girl he wants and hasn't met me yet; and David Aebischer – my favorite hockey player who already picked a girl, but is still freakin' hot and crush-worthy. Those three people notwithstanding, I have short-lived crushes all the time for very different reasons than I did when I was younger.

I had a short crush last week on the Zones guy because he always makes me laugh – even on a bad day. I had an even shorter crush on the scary construction worker that made my day by telling me I have a great smile – he wasn't so scary after that. I even had a crush, for about a minute, on the guy in the big, jacked up truck that was behind me at a stop light on Saturday…he was cute in the rearview mirror. Then he rode my bumper for two miles and stopped being so cute. Overall, my little crushes are meaningless and short-lived, but they fulfill that little part of me that wants to be a silly girl (for the record, I am slowly crushing that portion of my id because she is freakin' giggly and can't hold her liquour).

My point is, well…I am not sure I have a point. It is more a pondering. What is it about a person that makes them crushable? Am I crushable? Are you crushable? I think we should all try to figure out that one thing that makes us more crushable than the next person and then work it like Richard Simmons sweatin' to the oldies. Great ass? Wear great jeans. Great smile? Smile at everyone. Great eyes? Bat those lashes, baby! Great sense of style? Great confidence? Great sense of humor? Use it! Use what you have. We are all unique and we all have something special that sets up apart. Use it and make yourself crushable!

By the way – all those crushes I had in high school? I know one reason why many of them never turned into dates…my older brother. He informed me just this summer that he told the ones he didn't approve of to stay away from me. He even scared one boyfriend into breaking up with me!! The goober – I do love him so, but that'll teach me to tell him about my crushes. So, no one mention that John Cusack thing 'cause I don't want Blake to run him off before he can declare his undying devotion.

As for the rest of those high school crushes - I am sure they just didn't like my sense of humor…or my ass.

Me? Stubborn? You bet.

I'm not sure exactly where my stubborn-as-a-mule tendencies came from. It is probably a combination of my Mom - who could be stubborn as hell without you ever really realizing she was blocking all attempts to dissuade her - and my Dad who is blatantly stubborn when the situation calls for it. I have always been headstrong and getting my way all the time about everything was just another challenge I was determined to overcome pretty much since birth.

Growing up I remember having a group of friends that I ran around with and I was often the one coming up with the plans. I was the de facto leader because I wasn't shy and would talk to everyone and voice my opinion and basically run the show. As I got older I remained stubborn, but by the time I hit junior high and high school I had become a follower rather than a leader.

I was still outgoing and had a lot of personality, but I was easily swayed by those people I deemed more popular, beautiful, smart, [insert pretty much any adjective] than me. I was friends with a lot of the popular kids, but I was never really one of them. I spent my high school years feeling like I was on the fringes and that I was a complete and utter dork. I think my biggest problem was that I tried too hard to be part of the "in-crowd" and I forgot to just be myself.

I vividly remember buying a pair of really cute, brightly striped shorts in New Orleans that I really, really liked. We had gone down to the Big Easy for a drill team competition and spent an afternoon shopping. I was so excited to wear them to school and walked proudly into the drill team locker room sporting my great new shorts and out walked one of the most popular girls in school wearing the exact same shorts…only she looked way better than me in them. I looked like a dork because I was too embarrassed of my pale skin to show my legs so I wore some kind of ridiculous tights under them with flats and some silly shirt. As soon as I saw her I did this horrific little Rumpelstiltskin hop up and down because I was simultaneously shocked that we were wearing the same shorts and horrified that I so clearly looked like an escapee from clown college compared to her tan legs, striped shorts, Keds and simple t-shirt. It still embarrasses me just to think about it. That pretty much sums up my high school existence – I had the same shorts as the hot, popular girl, but managed to turn it into something dorky. I don't think either one of us ever wore those shorts to school again.

In the spring of my senior year I checked out. I decided that I was never going to live up to the popular kids, decided they were all silly, frivolous people and I no longer cared about silly high school drivel. I ended up dropping out of drill team right before our final performance. I started dating someone out of high school and quit spending time with my friends. No one really noticed. They went about their lives and I went about mine. I stubbornly refused to admit I had made a mistake and when I graduated I swore to never look back…so much for that bright idea. I will tell you that high school was certainly not the "best years of my life" like they are for a lot of people. I don't miss it, but I still look back and see things I wish I had done differently. I don't think I would go so far as to repeat it like Drew Barrymore in "Never Been Kissed," but sometimes I think about what it would be like to have the chance.

Lucky for me college was much better. I hit my stride in college. I felt pretty and smart and funny so I just turned on the charm. It helped that noone knew about the striped shorts and Rumpelstiltskin debacle. I dated a lot and had some good friends. Looking back I realize that, for a little while, I was the popular girl. I wasn't the follower anymore.

Now, as an adult, I am so far away from being a follower that I have gone from merely stubborn to blatantly headstrong. I have found that I will not accept anything but the best for myself and I push, push, push the people around me to do the same. I am sure it drives them all crazy. I also have this desire to be independent while safely engaged in my wonderful marriage. I went out of town this last weekend and on a whim I got two new tattoos (that makes 8 for those of you keeping count). Eric was a bit chagrined, but not really surprised. He put it quite eloquently when he joked, "You can't go out of town alone anymore because you always do something crazy like cut off all your hair or get a tattoo." It made me realize that I am kind of a rebel at heart.

As much as I love my life, my job, my friends and my family I have this little piece of me that wants to be free to do whatever I want whenever I want. I tend to express that by doing things on the spur of the moment without talking to anyone about them. I suppose I believe in that little adage that states:

"It is far easier to gain forgiveness than permission."

Whoever said that was a wise person. I would like to shake their hand and then unceremoniously smack them upside the head because that little statement gets me into hot water on a regular basis!!

Now that I am a Mom I look at my son and realize that he is stubborn and headstrong just like me. He is also very smart and very inquisitive. He has a sense of humor that will surprise you because you don't expect it out of someone so young. He's a star in the making if I ever saw one. I want him to realize that he is exactly what he is supposed to be. I don't want him to ever have a Rumpelstiltskin moment to look back on even though I know there is little I can do to prevent it. Short of locking him in his room from 13 until graduation it will be impossible for me to protect him from high school and all the teen angst that comes with it. I just want him to know that you don't have to be a follower because who you are is who you are supposed to be. I know that we all have embarrassing moments and they are important because they teach us about humility, but I hope his embarrassing moments are never about trying to be one of the popular kids.

So, I guess I have to concede that I am stubborn, but I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing. Being stubborn got me through college because I refused to give up. Being stubborn got me through my grad degree because I refused to believe I wasn't smart enough to make it. Being stubborn got me safely out the other side of a short-lived but horrible relationship and a suicide attempt because I refused to be broken. Being stubborn got me where I am today – happier than I ever imagined possible – and if my son is stubborn then I am going to encourage it because being stubborn will get him through tough times and out the other side a stronger person. Just like me.

License to parent and no boots in sight.

Since I don't really know what I want to talk about I guess I'll just sit here and write whatever pops into my head. At the moment I am at work for my second day back after a week vacation. It is really hard to concentrate and get stuff done. I am not even really sure what stuff I need to get done. My open positions are all currently stalemated. My Associates are all happily working away. My bosses are all MIA. I need to be doing sales. I need to be putting together an Operations Manual. I need to go and get lunch. I don't feel very good. I have some crazy "girl ailment" going on and I need to call the doctor. I am probably dying. The upside to that is I wouldn't have to pay back my student loans. The downside is that I wouldn't get to drink Starbucks vanilla lattes anymore.

I am supposed to be blogging about work. We are doing a whole new website and our CEO wants me to blog. Great – I don't know if I will be able to keep my sarcasm in check long enough to blog about work in such a way that I continue to have work. We'll see how it goes.

It was a great trip home to Texas. We spent the whole time hanging out with family. Of course, the whole trip revolved around food and I think I gained at least a small child. At the very least I undid 3 weeks of working out with 1 week of eating. We hit all my favorite places and some of them more than once. (Oh Chick-fil-a I do so love thee.) My friend Jenny asked me about my trip and actually used the words "promised land" and "chick-fil-a" in the same sentence. Cracked me up, but also summed up how I feel about those incredible chicken nuggets!!

My brother bought a couple of horses so when I wasn't gorging myself on chicken we were hanging out at the stables where they keep them. Drew had a great time riding Ollie. I actually didn't ride at all. I forgot to bring boots and it just seemed weird to try and ride in flip flops. I almost bought a pair of boots and then realized I couldn't fit them in my suitcase to get them home. That made me nostalgic because there was a time when I was spending someone else's money that I had several pairs of boots in all different colors (boots are freakin' expensive, ya'll!!). I do still own a cowboy hat, but what kind of self-respecting Texan doesn't own a pair of boots? Oh, wait…ME! First opportunity - I am buying boots. You won't catch me unprepared again.

Eric and I spent some time looking at real estate and trying to decide if we want to consider moving down there. I really miss my family a lot and would love to raise Drew near them. He had a blast with his cousins and, let's face it, my family is a lot closer than Eric's is. Plus, not to be morbid, but if Eric and I were to die Drew would go to my brother so it would be nice if Drew knew him better. Anyway, Eric was amazed that property is so cheap – it is likely a direct reflection on the humidity – and spent all week repeating, "How many acres? How much? Freakin' unbelievable."

We are looking at maybe buying 15 acres with my brother and putting two houses and a barn out there. They could stop paying to stable their horses, I could get another horse and they have four-wheelers and stuff. We even talked about putting in a pool. The catch is that we would have to sell our house here, figure out a way to move without spending any of the equity and find a free place to live until our new house was built. Yeah – I know. Leave it to me to make things complicated.

On another topic, I started the process of getting a business loan. I worked at a bridal shop many moons ago and the owner is like my grandmother (don't tell her I referred to her as a grandmother – she'd have my ass for that). She made me a killer offer to buy the store and if I can get the loan we will more seriously discuss options. Everything is riding on my credit right now and let's just say that banks aren't exactly lining up to write me a check. I'll keep everyone posted.

It is kind of weird to be home after spending a week at HOME. I have always missed my family and at a couple of points since meeting Eric have expressed a desire to move back there. It just always seemed unfair to move him against his will when I moved away of my own accord. I could have stayed there after I got divorced and I didn't. If I wanted to be there so bad then why move? Plus – Eric hates the humidity and would miss the mountains. He has lived in the NW his whole life and as soon as we landed in Dallas he started to sweat. I am not confident he would be happy in Texas. Texans are crazy, fanatical, "Texas is its own country" kind of folks. It is hot and humid and you certainly don't get to ski in the winter. Besides that people there say weird stuff like "fix'n to" and "used to could" and "might should" and "ya'll." I would be happy as a clam back in Texas, but I don't know that Eric would. Drew would probably be fine – after a week there he was already talking with a drawl. You should have seen Eric's face the first time Drew said "Dayud" instead of "Dad." It was PRICELESS!

It is so hard to think about moving anywhere. I used be the type that would pack up and move on a whim. I did it on more than one occasion and it always ended up being the right thing to do. Now that Drew is older it is a lot harder. He has his own little life here. He has friends and Eric's parents. They take him to the cabin and he loves that. He likes skiing and hockey. How do you make a decision that would completely alter your child's future? Do I really know what is best for my own kid? I think this is the first time I have ever really questioned my parenting abilities – well, except for that one time when I almost lost him at Fred Meyer, but I swear that wasn't my fault. If that crazy lady hadn't parked her cart in front of the dairy case I totally would have caught up with him before he rounded the next aisle.

Anyway, I am just starting wonder what crazy person gave me a license to parent. Shouldn't there have been a test or something? Also – at what point to you actually drug your spouse and relocate them to another state while they are passed out? Does the state prosecute for that?