A Mommy Blog About Raising Men, Not Boys.
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Wednesday, January 31, 2007

And they're OFF

The cookies have left the building.
I spent a lot of time online reading about how to ship cookies, consulting random websites that came up on Blingo (and why aren't YOU signed up on BLINGO? You KNOW Sarah and the Queen won iPods - right?)

Anyway, I consulted random sites, I consulted Martha - and what I learned, is that you aren't supposed to SHIP iced cookies. Which are what I made. So I wrapped them in wax paper. Then I put them in ziplocs. Then I put them in aluminum cake pans. Then I put them in a box surrounded by that egg crate foam you use on mattresses.

Let us pray.

Seriously, I don't have a lot of hope. I'm really really really counting on cold weather to keep them intact and iced on the trip out.

I have sent the Kaiser an email, informing him of the predicament the cookies are in. It is my advice that if they arrive in a giant lump of cookie and icing, to break out a fork. I'm about 90% sure they'll still taste delicious - even if they aren't pretty anymore.

But really, how pretty were powder blue church shaped cookies to start with?

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

VEXED!!! I AM VEXED I TELL YOU!

Okay, so a long time ago I bragged endlessly to the Queen about my bad-ass cookies. And her royal decree (okay, request) was to have some of these marvelous delights for when she had her surgery - a treat for recovery. Life has been a little up and down for me lately (as many of your know), but I hadn't forgotten and truly - I like to share these cookies. They are the bomb. They are the kind of secret recipe that you don't share, and people who say "I really don't like sweets" will look you in the eye after one bite and say "Man that really IS a good cookie."


So I was working up a "The Cookies are are on the way oh Queen" sort of post......when I realized I had botched up the icing.


Here is where we are at present:


First, I taunt you with the recipe.......which I might share actually if asked but I like to claim I will NEVER EVER SHARE - as it was given to me by Mrs Marian Davis of Franklin Indiana and I don't want to get my ass kicked by a 90+ year old woman. She's a tough old broad, and she was the original maker of these masterpieces in my youth.

There it is! Okay you can't see it, and no, there is no Bacardi in it. My kitchen is sort of small. A lot of stuff is crammed together on the counter.

Second, we have the assembly process. I brought in one of the best cookie assembly artists on the Suncoast.


And to make sure that these cookies are loaded with lots of healing power and a little sarcasm - as requested, I used my CHURCH shaped cookie cutter. Yeah, you might ask yourself - who in their right mind owns a CHURCH shaped cookie cutter? LEAVE ME ALONE. ME! I am the type of person that owns a CHURCH SHAPED COOKIE CUTTER! It was part of a set of Easter Cookie Cutters from my Aunt Suzie you just LEAVE ME ALONE. HEATHENS.


And then we get to the part I've biffed up. You see, I make some awesome icing. It's buttercream. But, I don't have a recipe. I just sort add this, and that, and the other thing, until the consistency and taste is correct. And if I don't have a pretty large supply of all ingredients.......well..........hmph.
Right now, in my fridge is the beginning of the icing for her cookies.
It's a bit like icing soup, as I ran out of powdered sugar. I'll fix it tomorrow and ship the cookies off for a speedy delivery to her Royal Recovery effort.
Every time I try to bake for someone else, I biff it up. I think it's because I get nervous, and then I make mistakes.

Regardless, part two should be tomorrow - the icing and the shipping. And if you'd like the worlds best SOUR CREAM COOKIE recipe.....let me know. I will probably give it to you. This cookie should be shared and loved by everyone.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Sometimes, it's the Mommy Stuff that Gets Me

When we first moved to FLA one of my favorite things we encountered were the remarkable malls for shopping. Seriously, we have some nice malls. Our "Family" mall is nice, and then there's the better mall - which is really cool and hip, and then there is the REALLY REALLY REALLY nice Mall which is just extraordinary. All in all, we have some badass shopping in this area and as one who was quite a shopper in the pre-kid days, it still makes me salivate a bit.

I'm not stranger to a nice shopping facility, however. It's not as though I shopped in a pumpkin patch my whole life......far from it. I grew up enjoying the comforts of a SIMON MANAGED mall. Been shopping at the FORUM at Caesar's in Vegas? That's a Simon Mall. They're very nice.

However, I've become acquainted with the WESTFIELD SHOPPING TOWN concept here. I was impressed when we first moved here by the "FAMILY FACILITY" they boasted. Private family restrooms with little toilets in them alongside BIG toilets. Microwaves. Private changing rooms that were also available for nursing mothers, that featured TVs showing childrens shows, and had stocked wipe warmers in them. Very, very nice. Surprisingly so. Westfield Shoppingtown was saying "We know you have babies, come shop here, we'll make it easier."

And so we did.


Recently, our Westfied Shopping Town Mall remodeled it's "Family Facility".

Are you ready?





I mean, oh my LORD how nice is this? This is the FAMILY FACILITY! Comfy chairs for breast feeding. Toys and activity tables for your little ones while you deal with your littler ones. How about this? There is a whole WALL of these changing areas.



Each changing area has a depression in the counter for the changing a area (a little small for BIG babies like my two year olds), a stocked wipe warmer, a bottle warmer, handsoap and disinfectant gel as well. Plus there is a microwave and a restroom for bigger little people to use with their parents. Westfield Shopping Town, thanks for being so family friendly. This family appreciates you very much!

And Then My Neighbor Died

Relationships can be tough. How two people can stay together through all the life that comes at you from every which way is sometimes amazing. All the years rush by but it's the days that seem to drag on. Especially when they are days that you aren't at your best. There are days when you are petty and crabby, or he is petty and crabby, or you are mad at him for not being someone else or he is mad at you for the same. And you are tied by the bonds of promises made in a church, and the family you have made together, by the life together that is nine years old but still a struggle some days even when it should be easy by now, or at least it seems like it should be.
So when you've had that day, that day when in the back of both of your minds you're wondering how many times you're going to have this same freaking argument and how unbelievably tired of all of it you both are.....and you're on the verge of having a completely rotten weekend and maybe week because I especially don't ever let anything go - I'm petty like that......and you suddenly hear news that is unbelievable, you reconsider your day.
As we were preparing to head out to see HAPPY FEET today, there were many elderly people coming out of my neighbors house. There have been elderly people there for the past couple of days, but I sort of assumed he had parents or aunts and uncles in town. One gentleman said goodbye to a few people who left, then stopped my husband as he was walking out of the house to talk to him. From across the street I saw my husbands jaw drop and heard the words "DIED?"
Our neighbor, with whom we shared a portico entrance to our appts was a nice guy with three kids. He was a dad who played football out on the green, and who cooked out. He had a teenager and two little kids. On Halloween he sat outside and passed out candy, and brought out a really cool haunted house thing that was all lit up with candles to decorate the porch. We liked him, he was friendly but always seemed busy, bustling up and down his stairs and going to and fro. Apparently on Tuesday he left the house to go jogging, got about 100 feet to our corner, and dropped dead at the age of 49. We're assuming it was a heart attack but we don't really know.
I sat and cried in the car, and most of the way down the street as my husband tried to calm me and tell me that everything was okay.

What he didn't realize was that I wasn't crying because our neighbor was dead. I was crying because I was glad that he was alive for me to be angry with.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

The Mighty Wurlitzer



Once in a while, my husband takes my breath away with a surprise. This past week he did it again with great aplomb.

When I was little there was this great place I loved to go. It was called the Paramount Pizza Palace. It was the most fun place in the whole world to a little kid. Pizza, ice cream, and this crazy LOUD organ that had huge banks of pipes, and tons of instruments all around the walls that the organ controlled. I have a lot of really magical "everyone in the family went and had a good time" memories there. It was a place where you would hear STAR WARS followed by DANCING IN THE DARK and they both sounded cool. You stood in line for an insane amount of time to sit on picnic style benches to eat, and watch and hear the Mighty Wurlizter. The Mighty Wurlizter isn't just an organ you listen to. It's an organ that shakes your insides and your head and the glasses on your table. If an organ can ROCK, the Mighty Wurlizter could. It would play stuff your Grandma likes and stuff you liked and it made for a great evening. The Paramount Pizza Palace was around long enough that when I was a semi- grownup Mrs Repressed and I took my littlest brother and her cousin and treated them to the joy of the Mighty Wurlitzer. We cracked up when the two of them about lost their minds while we stood in line to get ice cream because the organ had started back up again. "HURRY! We're MISSING IT!" - yeah, we were missing the organ that was shaking the floor. Not likely.

But one day, when I was grown up and moved out of my parents house I drove past the place where the Paramount Music Palace was and POOF.......it was gone. We heard the organ went here, we heard it went there, we heard it went somewhere else. But it was gone, out of business. Apparently, little kids didn't like listening to STAR WARS followed by DANCING IN THE DARK anymore while eating pizza.

Shortly after I moved to Florida my mom mentioned that she had heard that the Mighty Wurlitzer from there had come to Florida somewhere. So I did a little search.

And found it.

And it was CLOSE.

The spouse and I had talked about going several times, but we were out quite far from home the other day and he mentioned that he'd like to stop off at place X to look for some shoes. Then he suggested we might grab a bite to eat. I said okay and let him pick.

Surprise.

I cried.

Seriously. It might sound stupid, but I totally cried. Because this crazy organ was a happy place, it was a place where you couldn't even TALK because it was so loud but everyone always had the best time anyway. And you know what? The Roaring 20s is exactly the same. I question whether the same people own it or bought the concept or WHAT but I swear.......it is IDENTICAL to the Paramount Pizza Palace except that the lights weren't dimmed as much, the organ was quieter (it was loud, but not HELLA LOUD like I remember. No dishes on the table rattled), and the ice cream parlour and the place where you order were on the opposite sides.
I took Lil' Sachmo up and told him about the Mighty Wurlitzer and explained to him what the massive banks of pipes where, I told him how the organ used to ROTATE and descend into the floor when I was little (the new place doesn't do that) and how his Grandma and Grandpa used to take me there all the time.
We ate pizza and I watched my children laugh and clap and stare in wonder. We were the only people in the place under 50, I swear. My camera ran out of batteries and this nice lady at the table next to me loaned me hers so I could take a few snaps. It was wonderful, and magical, and I'm so happy I was able to take my own children there.






I can't wait to go back.


Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Oh I'm Sorry, Did You Have Snow?




Since I don't know how long I'll be able to continue these taunts, I feel it necessary to get them in now. It's entirely possible that by June I'll be posting things like "Man, I'm glad we don't have hurricanes where I live! Whew! That would SUCK!"

But until then, please accept this tauting. It's really all I have right now.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Fisher Price - You are making me Crazy

I'm up late, surfing the web reading the same freaking stories for the zillionth time because I have cramps and I'm grumpy and I have 57 Channels and nothin's on.

And my cat just walked across this, and scared me so bad I peed my pants.

I swear.

I'm going to have a beer and watch ROME again.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

REDEMPTION !!!!!!!!!!!!!

I ain't here, to start no Trouble......

Farewell To the First Golden Era

The soundtrack of my childhood was filled with the gorgeous harmonies of John Phillips and sung by John, Denny, Michelle and Cass - THE MAMAS AND THE PAPAS. I can sing every song, although I definitely have favorites. I've always been a fan of Cass's parts over Michelles when performing for my steering wheel. I am, not to put to fine a point on it, a pretty big fan. And my dad is even more so.
So I was sad to learn yesterday that Denny had died. I misread the story at first and thought it said he was 86 which freaked me out for a few minutes.
So now Michelle is the only one left, but she was the youngest by quite a bit even back in the day, so it makes sense.
I thought I would share a cool website with you that dissects my favorite Mama's and Papa's song, Creeque Alley. There is so much reference material in that one song, Dennis Miller's head would explode.

And to the makers of Cold Medicine - A Raspberry

Children's cold medicine is wildly unfair. You have kids, they get the sniffles and a little fever. So you buy the product that you think will allow them to breathe, reduce their fever and let everyone get some sleep. But you have THREE children. And two of them react nicely - settling into their sickbeds like cherubim, with red cheeks and boogery noses but SLEEPING soundly. Thanks to this you are able to relax, watch a little ROME (new episode tomorrow, so I was re-watching the season premiere!) and have a couple of beers and stay up later than you had planned to. But your guard is down. Because #3 is disguised as one of the other two, also sleeping.
And it's been so long since anyone was sick, that you've pushed out of your mind all the long nights when the twins were babies.....when #3 became a statistic because he REACTS TO THE SIDE EFFECTS of his meds. That's right "may cause hyperactivity" should be stamped in HUGE LETTERS on the front of every bottle containing a medicine with the remotest chance of this side effect. A small stylus should pop out of the box, prick your finger to get your attention and then a recording should play "MAY CAUSE HYPERACTIVITY" whenever one of these boxes are picked up by a well meaning parent. I would still purchase the product despite my bloody finger, for offspring #1 and #2. But for #3 I would find an alternative, or decide if he really needs it or if I'm just dosing him because I'm dosing everyone else (don't give me that look you do it too).

Because you see, at 5:30 am this morning, Baby Birdman came bouncing out of sleep. Bouncing off the walls. Singing. Howling. Running around his room. Bashing trucks on the dresser near his monitor. Picking up his monitor and yelling "YEA!" into it.

I waited. I rolled over. So sleepy, hadn't been in bed ALL that long. Decided if he hadn't chilled out and gone to sleep by 7:30 I'd take him to the living room. But noise didn't even subside. He laughed maniacally running around his room. I heard dresser drawers start to open at ten till 7 and gave up.

First we came into the living room and I tried to get him to lay down with me on the sofa. I would've had better luck getting an oiled cat to lay down with me. So then I think, well, I'll turn the kitchen light on so that there is LOW light in the living room and just let him play, and I'll sleep on the couch. Except that I forgot that every single Fisher Price Little People toy in our living room play a LOUD DAMN SONG. Some of them MORE THAN ONE. This is what it looks like. Those of you who are parents know what I mean. And you probably know the damn songs I am talking about. You can't sleep through them. A heroin addict couldn't sleep through them, particularly the bird in the Little People Zoo who chirps the loudest, most annoying version of "THE MORE WE GET TOGETHER" in the land.



And I can't be upset with him, as I sit here with my coffee listening to Moose A. Moose talk about shapes. First of all, it's not his fault. He's turning somersaults all around my living room as I type because he's medicated by something that turns him into a ball of energy. Second of all.......
he gets it from me.

Yeah you heard me. You'd think I'd be more of an expert on which drugs do which, but I've always been more in tune to brand names that I took as an adult with the exception of Guafenesin. Guafenesin is the drug they love to give you to clear out your lungs. After the second dose I am officially on insomnia watch.....I about come out of my skin when it sets in. I toss, I turn, sometimes I cry because I'm so physically sleepy and sleep will not come. There are a couple of things I can take that knock me right out, Coricidin D being one of them. NyQuil with it's big death Q being another. But many decongestants make me a crazy person, denying me sleep and making me miserable.

And now they're doing it second hand.

So I made some coffee, turned on Noggin and logged into the Web. Must take a nap today. Must have energy for the COLTS GAME!

Please let this child collapse in sleep in the next hour.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Kitchen Cosmetology

Back in the day, Mrs Repressed and I used to make a mean margarita and then break out her Grandma Jean's perm box and give each other some wicked 80s hair with a Toni Silkwave. It's one of those bonding things women do. We do each other's hair. Because if you let someone do your hair, you trust them. It's a sign that you've crossed that line from just good friends - you are willing to allow another person to potentially COMPLETELY jack up the way you look. And, you allow them to DRINK while handling dangerous chemicals around your head. This, my male friends and readers, is how women express love and friendship. By putting chemicals on each others heads.
So you know Nikki and I are truly bestest friends, as yesterday we did THIS to one another.










But the madness didn't stop there! OH NO people. Because then I did THIS AND THIS to her. And she wanted me to! The bottom is black, and then I put blonde as hell highlights over the top of that whole red business she has going on. She's very colorful now!

I guess I'm going to have to produce some "AFTER" pictures so you can see that we don't look like Haggis McBaggis. We both turned out quite well. And, we're still friends.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Party Etiquette for the Remainder of the Football Season

This is just an FYI. Football related parties require football related foods. Foods that fall within this category are foods that taste good with beer and something sweet for when you're tired of all that greasy, delicious beer-related food. The something sweet could be chocolate, or cake or something gooey but I think it's safe to say, it should not be THIS.
Let's face it, if you bring THAT to my football party, you're making my servings of wings, and cheese, and sausage stars (you can beg me for the recipe - which is actually Justin's), and cocktail weenies, and potato skins, etc look like crap. You're grandstanding. And if you serve it at your OWN party - well you're just trying to put a fancy face on football. Football doesn't have a fancy face.
Football is dirty. Even on astroturf.

It's like the people at Edible Arrangements are trying to girl up football - make it "bearable" for the wives by providing them with this lovely arrangement. Now, make me one of these out of sausages and cheese........and we're talking.

And don't get me wrong, I think most of their stuff looks pretty darn cool. And would be nice at say, a bridal shower. But for the AFC championship? No. SUPERBOWL? Hell No.

In other news, I'm sure you all saw them last year but I think that THESE are freaking cool for Valentine's Day.


cross posted at DRAFT DAY SUIT

And Oldie But Goodie

A guy from Indiana dies and is sent to Hell. He had been a horrible man his entire life. The devil puts him to work breaking up rocks with a sledge hammer. To make it worse, he cranks up the temperature and the humidity.


After a couple of days, the devil checks in on his victim to see if he is suffering adequately. The devil is aghast as the Hoosier is happily swinging his hammer and whistling a happy tune. The devil walks up to him and says, "I don't understand this. I've turned the heat way up, it's humid, you're crushing rocks; why are you so happy?"

The man, with a big smile, looks at the devil and replies, "This is great! It reminds me of August in Indiana. Hot, humid, a good place to work. It reminds me of home. This is fantastic!"


The devil, extremely perplexed, walks away to ponder the man's remarks. Then he decides to drop the temperature, send down a driving rain and torrential wind. Soon, Hell is a wet, muddy mess. Walking in mud up to his knees with dust blowing into his eyes, the man is happily slogging through the mud pushing a wheelbarrow full of crushed rocks. Again, the devil asks how he can be happy in such conditions.


The man replies, "This is great! Just like April in Indiana. It reminds me of working out in the yard with spring planting!"

The devil is now completely baffled but more determined to make him suffer. He makes the temperature plummet. Suddenly Hell is blanketed in snow and ice. Confident that this will surely make him unhappy, the devil checks in on him. He is again aghast at what he sees. The man is dancing, singing, and twirling his sledgehammer as he cavorts in glee.

"How can you be so happy? Don't you know its 40 below zero!?" screams the devil. Jumping up and down, he throws a snowball at the devil and yells, "Hell's frozen over! This means the Colts won the Super Bowl!

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Florida Cold

It's Florida Cold today.
This means, you need a light jacket and long pants.
I tell my relatives up north in the LAND OF COLD that it's cold and my sister in law tells me it's 15 there.
Hee hee hee. It's like 60 here.

We're having hot chocolate and turning the AC so that it doesn't come on, we call that winter. Actually, there were some nights a couple of months ago that we TURNED ON THE HEAT.

The had snow in LA today and some people are out of school for a week in the midwest.

This is the only time of year that I get to laugh at you suckas, cuz we both know Hurricane Season will be here......and then you can laugh June till November.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Did you hear the Screaming?

It was me, screaming in mental anguish as I was forced to root for the Patriots last night. I wasn't home for most of the game, but we flipped it on and there were about 5 minutes left in the 4th quarter as I was preparing to head over to a friends house to hang out for a while.
It looked like the Patriots were really going to have to PUSH to get anything done. So I left the house, head hanging and drove over to my friends. Thinking the whole time 'DAMMIT PATRIOTS! GET IT DONE!'. It felt like betrayal - as if I'd been rooting for the Nicks back in the Reggie Miller-PACERS days. BLASPHEMY. But I couldn't help it. I know, and everyone else seems to know, Indy couldn't stop that San Diego run. It wouldn't happen. So I was forced to root for the damn Patriots.
When I got to Roni's, the game was on and everyone was GLUED to it. "THE GAME IS TIED!" they announced when I walked in.
I nearly choked. COME ON PATRIOTS! WIN THIS GAME! Everyone else was rooting for San Diego - as they declared themselves sick of the the Patriots.
I think it was the closest I ever came to actually PRAYING for a victory (I don't pray for victories though, if God doesn't have better stuff to do than help out pro sports teams I'm completely disgusted).
And when everyone else screamed "OH NO!" I screamed "YES YES YES YES YES!!!!" and other happy joyful things. I think I did a little dance.

Now, the AFC championship had better be OURS. GO GOLTS!

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Oh The Humanity

You know what I really hate?
I hate it when your nerves get shot to hell, and you really have to poop all the time from stress. And you poop SO much that your butt starts to bleed and HURT constantly so you take some of that stuff, that anti-diahrea stuff.
And it stops you up, and stops the never-ending flow outta your butt.

And then, THEN 24 or so hours later........you pass something the size of the Hindenburg.

Which nearly makes you pass out as it exits.

I really hate that.

And Hitler. I hate Hitler too.

Friday, January 12, 2007

It's Delurking Week Already?




I totally stole this graphic from someone else. But, I hear it's De-lurking week and since I've been getting mad traffic, especially from the people over at the www.penissizelinks.com I thought I'd recognize it. So please, say hello.

Platitudes

plat·i·tude (plāt'ĭ-tōōd', -tyōōd') Pronunciation Key n.
A trite or banal remark or statement, especially one expressed as if it were original or significant. See Synonyms at
cliché.
Lack of originality; triteness.


You know, I realize that in times of grief, that platitudes come rolling in. "They're with the lord now." "God has a plan." "They've gone to a better place." etc etc etc. I also realize that when YOU are saying these things, you are making yourself feel better. You're imposing your belief system on a situation because it is how you are grieving, it is how you are dealing with the situation. And while I am a big jerk most of the time, I would never yank the metaphorical platitude carpet out from under you if we are mutually grieving. I know how much you need it, at those times. In my head, snarky comebacks and generally rotten remarks might fly unbidden but I would never hit you back with one.
Because I know that you are doing the best you can with the situation. As am I. No reason to make things worse.

But if you know me, at all, and you who fall under the category of friends should know me, you know that I don't buy into it. It not only doesn't comfort me to hear your false words - it enrages me when it is directed at me. Absolutely enrages me.
So called words of comfort like "You're so strong you're going to come out on top." "You knew this was coming, so you're okay right?" (hmmm, shall we say this to someone on the way to execution?) and other ridiculous words including "Congratulations you know you're actually lucky" make me pretty much hate your guts for your callousness. I am not kidding. Rage boils up when meaningless words are tossed at me lightly in times of stress. And I am struck to the heart that you have said such cold words to me.

When bad things happen to good people, how about "I'm sorry and I'm here if you need me." Or even an "I love you." Death and destruction take various forms, and everyone should really learn that we don't all want your mock comfort.

To quote Marsellus Wallace, "Nah, I'm pretty fuckin' far from alright."

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Gordon Says WHAT?

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Who Did You Use To Be?

In reviewing old pictures I'm finding that I can remember who I was in those pictures, but sometimes it's weird to consider that THAT person and this person are the SAME person.
I don't know, sometimes, how I went from someone who wanted to be a high school band director to someone who runs a call center. It's really not the same skill set, other than bossing people around.
Did the person inside my skin change, or just the outside? What was important then is so not important now. I think now, as a parent, I appreciate the person I was guided to be. I see my mother in myself, and my father, and sometimes it makes me shudder and sometimes it makes me smile. At the age of 18 I would have probably been completely mortified to think that I'd be like either of them - and now I'm so happy for all the things about me that ARE.
It speaks of immortality, this sameness. The good and the bad of it, carried forward. And there, in my own children - I see sparks of it in them as I'm sure my husband does.
In this picture I'm 18, and with my mom and my brother Matt who is 8. We're on our last "family" vacation late in the summer before I went to college. I am full of hope. I am full of promise.
And I love that the hopes and promises in this picture didn't come true. But were replaced with different dreams, that were better than any I ever conceived.

Monday, January 08, 2007

Introducing.......GUNTHER

I think it's my mission to make everyone out there in the Blogosphere aware of a frightening phenomenon coming out of Europe. I mean, I expect a little bizarre David Hasselhof worship, I expect game shows that border on nonsense.
What I did not expect, was GUNTHER.
You see, GUNTHER isn't a joke, although in your mind - as you try to PROCESS what you are seeing you'll keep expecting Jimmy Kimmel to jump up and tell a joke. Or maybe Chris Kattan. Because it's so Saturday Night Live-esque.......well.....you get the picture.
I received a special gift from Santa - a copy of GUNTHER'S PLEASURE MAN CD.
If you were wondering what Samantha Fox and her giant hooters had been up to lately......well, now you have the answer. She's doing DUETS with GUNTHER.

I highly recommend clicking on the VIDEOS section, check out the DING DONG SONG. You'll never be the same.

And try not to be jealous, but Gunther is one of my MYSPACE friends.

Before.......and After







The funny thing is, all the same people are in both pictures. I'm six months pregnant or so with the twins in the first one.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Like Father




Like Son.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

JAM- A - LAMMA - DING DONG

I have this hope chest that my greatgrandfather made for my greatgrandmother.
I am so fond of it, that my husband often questions whether or not it was carved from the Ark of the Covenant or the One True Cross or what-have-you.
It sits at the foot of my bed, the way a hope chest should.
Last night, in my typical absent minded hurry of putting my kids to bed I went past it, ran into it (as always) and JAMMED a piece of splinter the size of a palm tree into the back of my leg.
Okay, it wasn't the size of a palm tree.
It was THIS size.
Now, imagine that you have to PULL most of that out of the soft, tender, fat part of your thigh (okay I don't have a THIN part of my thigh - leave me alone.)

Got the Willies yet?

Here, to make the shuddering stop, here is a cute picture of the Baby Birth of Cool who fell asleep watching Zoboomafoo.

Your heebeejeebies should be all better now!

Monday, January 01, 2007

Ringing In the New Year - Mommy Style

My good friends up at the FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE were throwing a fine bash for New Years Eve, complete with the option of spending the night. There would be a bonfire, lotsa beverages and music and a generally fine social evening had by all. But it didn't feel right, bringing in the New Year without my family - and even though everyone is WELCOME at their house, I'm not the kind of parent who brings two year olds to an adult party.
So we stayed home and partied like parents. Some of the activities we engaged in to ring in the New Year included......


And just to make you jealous we did a little of this.


That's right. We know how to party.

If you are wondering, yes I have New Years Resolutions.
And now I will bore you with them.

1. I will lose weight. I'm going back on WW even if we can't get an AT WORK meeting going. I'm also going to keep track of my weight on Traineo.com because it's free vs. the WW site which is not.
2. I will work out three times a week. I will return to following my leader Billy Blanks despite how crazy he talks on his DVDs.
3. I will complete my childrens baby books. I had a great start on Little Satchmo's when he was a baby but then after a while I just lost the thread. And while I obtained TWIN baby books for the twins, I never even filled them out. SHAME ON ME.
4. I will take all the freaking clothes I can't wear, won't wear, or HATE and will take them to GOODWILL rather than hanging on to them for no apparent reason (current mode of operation).


Lofty Goals.....indeed.

So You Had A Party and Didn't Invite Me?

I am nursing a hurt, and am currently unsure what to do with it.
Someone I know, someone I considered one of my friends, held a fancy holiday party and didn't invite me.
Very pointedly didn't invite me.
Which confuses me. If we were casual acquaintances who knew each other through work I might have been miffed to have been passed by, but I've thrown enough soirees with people from work to know you just can't invite EVERYONE. So if our friendship was of casual standing, I guess I would understand it. Or be less put out by it.
I would also be less confused by these events if this person hadn't invited many, many random people from the office - some of whom were blatant attempts at networking (so I get those), and others who were very weird choices. People way down the ladder, without much previous interaction with this person.

In discussing with a mutual friend I expressed that what I would have to take away from this event that I was wrong about our relationship. That we are not friends. Which is disappointing but seems very likely true.

Women are so much more difficult than men sometimes. Men are straightforward, men are direct. With women there are subtleties and tones, there are nuances of meaning behind what we do. So few women operate without these games that when I meet one who does I nearly want to get BFF tattoos on the spot.

I guess it's all a big "Whatever". I was wrong. We're not friends.

Now the question is, do I reciprocate and not invite her to something.....or be the bigger person? After all, if we weren't friends, I certainly wouldn't invite her. I am female enough to truly consider the first option. I like to think I'm enough of an adult to actually DO the second.

We'll see how big of a child I am.