Please Try Again

Ooo, Das Not Mah Baby's daddy

2011-06-07T23:41:00.000-07:00

My daughter is beautiful, intelligent, wise beyond her knowing, or even my knowing, and, I'm sure, just like the daughters of everyone of you out there...perfect.

Honestly? She can be a poot stain at times.

Persephone was born nineteen years ago to a 22 year old single white female. That's me. Her mom stayed single for at least ten to twelve years of her life (time passes by and I have no way of knowing just what age she was when I finally married). During that time, her mom scrimped, saved, placed her pride in the closet for later use, and taught her to become the beautiful perfect daughter she is today. Single mom style, I like to call it.

Now, almost TWENTY years later...drum roll please...

Yes, you guessed it, enter the sperm donor.

UGH. Yes, her mom knows she was young...she knows she was foolish...she knows she should woulda coulda but didn't all those years ago. The choices we make when we are young wouldn't be the choices we'd make when we become old. I know, I know. Her mom knows she picked the sperm donor. She thought she was in LOVE with the sperm donor. Of COURSE she was in love with the sperm donor (it sure as hell wasn't for the sex).

Anyway, here he comes (via Facebook of all things). She added him, he added her, blah blah blah.

Her mom is having the HARDEST time remaining neutral.

But she is pledging to remain neutral.

yeah

right

neutral.

Not Another Vampire Book?

2010-06-23T05:37:00.000-07:00

Actually, I have to say, not really...even though it is.

Does that make any sense?

A week ago I purchased Justin Cronin's "The Passage" on a blind faith given whim. I absolutely knew nothing of the book aside from Housewife Savant's adamant appeal to buy the book and read it (eat popcorn, drink coke, spend money). Yes, she put "post apocalyptic" on the hook, and I bit.

And now, 700 some odd pages past, I find myself praying for dawn, jumping at shadows, and listening for swift movement in the trees.

Mr. Justin Cronin gives you a taste of it all. Pre-apocalyptic government testing, the man-God-complex, a big screw-up that causes the end of the world as we know it, and a pint sized savior. Toss in a vampire or 12 million, and you have "The Passage." Yes, he follows the recipe for a home cooked PA, and yes, he throws in a young savior of the world...destructively indestructible...and yes, they seem to be able to get out of pinches that others fall prey too...and the bad guys, don't forget the bad guys (which are blood devouring man gone wrong things that have become infected with a virus that makes them starved for blood and hang upside down when they sleep, but hey, it's all good)...but all books follow that recipe. It's the little things you add to it like salt, an extra heap of fresh garlic, or a couple of shrimp here and there that changes the flavor.

As I began the book, there were times that I wanted to put it down. Too many man things...you know...the army, scientific experiments, criminals, you know, man things, but Justin (we're on a first name basis now), threw in Amy. I'm not going to tell you about Amy. Just suffice it to say that Amy kept me coming back, and even though at times she's a bit annoying, okay, lots of annoying, she became the reason for that viral season. And while I enjoyed the meat of the book, it was the ending that had me applauding. I won't give you much into it but to say, the author gave himself an easy way to solve the big problem on the horizon, and then took the path less traveled by. If you don't understand what I mean by that, give the book a read.

To sum it up, Government eff's up the world,monsters on the loose, survivors struggle to survive, hope is hanging by a thread, a group lead by one courageous youth goes on mission to save their world.

A book that reads like a man, but smells like a woman (click the post title, buy the book, drink coke).

We Represent the Lollipop Gang

2010-06-18T05:59:00.000-07:00

I have to spill.

I have to spew.

I have to get it off of my chest.

My home is in Louisiana. My home. Everything I grew up with, my family, my new family, my job, my friends, the roads I travel. Everything I know.

My father was a trawler. He caught shrimp for a living, and a hard living it was. And although we lived right on the poverty line, he did his best and raised us as right as he could. His line of work rarely allowed him to be home. He'd take his boat out for a week (longer in the winter because the ice in his hold didn't melt as quickly), come home for a day or two, ice up, grocer up, and go out into the wild once more. He did this for ever until the day he retired.

I remember when his boat burned down, when it sunk, when the engine broke, when the wench went kaput, when the hold had a leak, when crab traps were caught in the wheel, and a multitude of other things that threatened his livelihood occurred.

Those were scary times for our family, but there was always hope because the boat could be fixed.

I'm not so sure this can be fixed. The BP oil catastrophe had shut down Louisiana's shrimping industry. It has shut down it's offshore fishing. It has contaminated a way of life for many of its people. While I am fortunate enough to have a career in a different field, many of the students I teach cannot say the same. Everything they know is perilously hanging by an extremely then thread.

However, many of our local fishers are seasonal trawlers. They have a shrimp season in the fall, and one in the spring. This is the time of year where the wild life and fisheries allow them to trawl the "inside" fresh waters for shrimp. It lasts a few months, and when the shrimp become small, the season is closed. Unless you have a large trawl boat, you usually find something else to do for the winter season. Some people crab, some people fish oysters, some people find a temporary job at Wal Mart, but most people find a job working offshore, on an oil rig.

Louisiana has been hit hard. It's coastline is drenched in crude. The offshore fishing industry is all but shut down. And now they want to put a ban on deep water drilling.

I know the argument. It's better for the environment, it's better for our way of life, it's better for you, and it's better for me.

So tell me, what alternate energy source are they going to use in place? Where are they going to find the thousands of dollars for unemployed shrimpers that go on unemployment, where are they going to find the thousands of dollars for the thousands of soon to be unemployed oil field workers that go on unemployment...

Wait a few months for the trickle effect...when the big companies that came to our area pack up and leave. They will no longer be using our banks, our stores, our hotels, our real estate, our rental properties, our cars, our air ports, and this list goes on and on.

Wait a few years when our thriving city becomes a ghost town.

When families that have lived here all of our lives have to move in order to find work.

When our stressed economy loses all elasticity.

Guys, I'm all for a cleaner world. I'm seeing first hand the devastation this disaster has caused. But instead of working to fix it, people are pointing the blame finger, telling them it's your responsibility...clean it up. Shouting, now see what you've done? It's your fault, now I"m going to punish everyone.

Get. It. Done.

Stop fighting each other, and work together.

BP can't do it alone.

The coast cant do it alone.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Stop turning this into a "they f'ed up, now lets stick it to them" kind of thing. Fix it, then whack them with the ugly stick.

Just fix it.

That's Right It Starts With an Earthquake

2010-06-14T06:40:00.000-07:00

It was late. So late that the skies were at its darkest while waiting for the sun to snake it's spidering fingers over the horizon allowing the twilight of dawn to appear, and while some people would call twelve midnight the official hour, this hour of pure pitch black was in deed, dead time. Gripped tightly within the hands of fear, I could not even slide out of bed to go potty. Fear, yes, big fear...fear greater than being faced by an emerging hibernated bear (Okay, not really, but you get the picture.

While I've never been a fan of gore, grizzly slayings of innocents by some fiendish monster, I have been known to become enthralled between the pages of a book that keeps me glued between the covers of my bed. My clutching fingers, and ears, eyes, nose, and mouth were the only parts exposed to the evils that lurked inside the pages of my book.

Terrified. Completely and totally terrified, sitting there at 4am impatiently trying to finish a book that had me paralyzed from the neck down with a massive dose of fear. The one book that really kept me nailed to the bed was "Moonsong" by Charles De Lint. It wasn't your typical horror, it was dosed with a Fantasy element crossing over into modern day society. We called it Sci-Fantasy back then (still do =P). And it wasn't people being torn to pieces, ripped to shreds that had me frozen in terror. The macabre never much appealed to me. It was this spirit thing that was trying to force his way into a protected house that lay on the borders of "our" world and an alternate universe. "shudder" You KNOW what would have happened if that thing would have gotten inside.

Now, Ms. Kelly at "Housewife Savant" has my mind tossing and turning again. She's picked the post apocalyptic theme for her summer reading this year, and had asked for recommends. And of course, I recommended the one book I recommend to anyone that drops off from the romance reading genre (Okay, but Sookie Stackhouse has totally got to go....ENOUGH already). The book I recommend is called "Swan Song." It's amazing. It's pure art. It's really good. And it brings the question of, "Why?"

Why would I read something that gave me nightmares for a good many night after reading it. Why would I read something that is a prelude to the destruction of man kind?

The appeal is simply this. In this crazy, messed up world...running amok in all it's technology, expansion, and new restaurants (yeah, but no TGIF yet), our inner selves desire a return to simplicity. Where we can feel safe once again. Where the world is truly...truly yours.

I read "The Stand" when I was in my early teens, and can remember putting the book aside and daydreaming of what it would be like to walk into a supermarket and just pick anything off of the shelf. To drive off in a brand new car of my choosing. To just go and be (of course while dodging killer zombies and gross putrid bodies lying all over the road). As I grew older, the appeal changed to that of gaining solidarity with mankind (corny, I know), learning to depend on each other again, introducing yourself to the land, your new caregiver), because the super market doesn't exist anymore. Finally being clean, even though you haven't bathed in quite a while!

Of course the books both go off into the typical "good vs. evil" mode, has its scare points (like I said, "Swan Song" left me waking up in the middle of the night not screaming, that's too embarrassing for quite a while). Read it read it read it.

You'll like it.

Especially Swan.

She's so cute.

Craaaaaawfish

2010-03-31T06:39:00.000-07:00

Now that my friend is single, people from all over (the Who Dat Nation, woot, woot) are trying to set her up. So, of course, I tried my hand at it as well. My husband knew a single (divorced) guy. Really good guy. Nice guy. Working guy. Has a job guy. Owns his home guy. Kids are grown guy.

Read: Old guy.

Okay, so he's not that old. Honestly, he's only ten years older than she is. Good looking. Drives a truck. Did I say he has a job? Well, he has a job.

She agrees, but only if we double.

I'm so excited! We get to out...I mean...she's going out with this guy! How cool is that?

She cancels. She's in a bad mood (understandable) and doesn't want to make a bad mood impression on the guy (totally understandable) or have her mood affect her impression of him (UNDERSTOOD!!!). I get that.

I, on the other hand, am crestfallen. What? No eating crawfish night for me?

Someone left my cake out in the rain fer sure.

But I forgot to tell you, my husband, he's so beast (that's middle school talk for he's really cool). He's savage (that's the word that will replace beast soon).

We went out anyway.

It was great. It was wonderful. The waitress can bite my ever living expanding ass, too.

Yes, I know I am blowing it out of proportion, but I MUST tell my tale. We went to the local popular seafood joint. I've been dying to pinch tails and suck heads for the longest time now, and tonight was the night! Beast ordered a catfish po-boy, and I...I ordered two pounds of delectable boiled crawfish. So yummy, so yummy. Since we are on a budget, and those little critters are expensive this time of the year, I kept it down to two (we ALL know that any decent Cajun woman can down at least 5 to 10 pounds of those suckers). My darling beast of a man told me to get another pound if I wanted, but I said, "Let me wait til I have these done, and we will see."

In the meantime, our lovely Rita, I mean the waitress has yet to stop by our table to check on our feasting status (I will add that she has visited several tables before to refresh drinks, check on happiness level, and the usual good Samaritan working for the tip behavior). Finally, by holding up an empty glass full of melting ice, my husband halted our waitress long enough to get a fresh coke. And then she was gone, in two seconds flat. Well, perhaps three, I don't do math. Did not pass our way for quite some time afterwards. And by the time she returned, and before I could open my mouth to ask for a third pound of the now elusive crawfish, she plopped our check on the table. I imagine our faces were showing a bit of puzzlement when she asked, "Oh, did you want some dessert?"

Er...no.

My question(s):

Did we look like bad tippers?

Did we look poor?

Were we so ugly that she couldn't stand the sight of us long enough to ask about our well being?

Did my husband leave her a tip?

Yes, he's beast like that.

Will we be back?

Yes. We will, the crawfish is good.

Am I as pissed as I was last night?

Nah. I'm over it. We went to a video poker place, drank beer, and smoked.

It was great.

When I was just a young girl

2010-03-18T20:34:00.000-07:00

My youngest brother, who is older than I am by thirteen years, was sentenced to twenty years at Angola Pennitentary for his involvement in an armed robbery of a convenient store. He was sitting in the car in drug induced euphoria while his friends held up the store with a hand gun.

He was eighteen, and served nearly fifteen years before being paroled.

The things I remember most before, and during that period in his life was his romance with an "older" woman. He was quite young and she wasn't quite so young. Betty Anne was her name. He had a son with his childhood sweetheart. Since we were "poor white trash," her parents refused to acknowledge him, and he grew up not knowing my brother.

I remember his motor cycle. It was big, black, and loud. His best friend was killed while riding it. I remember that quite clearly, although I was really young at the time, because he was decapitated...and my brother threw the motor bike in the ship channel.

I remember his music, halloween parties, and everyone calling him "Chicano." He was half mexican. We had different dads.

He was wild. Liked to party. Liked to smoke, drink and fool around.

My brother came out of prison in the early ninties.

As it is with most boys becoming men while living in prison, living in the "world" was a trial. He found work as an offshore cook, and then moved his way up...way up to a very skilled crane operator, met a woman, had a son, left the woman, lost his son, and lived his life deep in alcohol and whatever else he could find to fill the emptiness.

He loved his son.

Truly loved his son, and grieved the forced seperation that his son's mother imposed. But at the same time, the disease of alcoholism and drug addiction had such a hold that not even for his son could he give it up. He tried. And at times succeeded. He fought for his son, and time and time again, lost. I think it broke his heart, and from that breaking, he could not become fixed. The alcohol and drugs became so deeply embedded. It was the only thing in his life that remained faithful to him. How could he not be the same in return.

He was a good person, aside from the addiction he battled daily. And would not hesitate to offer help when the need was there. I remember the endless days I spent in the hospital battling cancer, and the endless days he spent being there, sleeping on a couch that made his butt look big.

Demon's aside, his heart was good.

My brother is dying. He was diagnosed years ago with Hep. B. Fearing for the loss of his job, he decided to forego treatment. And now, years of abuse combined with this disease is taking his mind and his life.

I do not know how long he has. I do not know how many bouts of sanity vs. insanity we will see.

And my heart hurts for the man who lost the boy that he was.

So...so you think you can tell...

2010-03-02T17:57:00.000-08:00

Yes, I've had a bit to drink tonight.

Just about a whole bottle of wine. White Zinfeldel (I'm not even going to try the correct spelling), minus a glass.

It's been a day.

A day and a half so to speak, and while I'm not one to drink stress away, I thought I deserved a bit of spirits today.

My children were safe.

Someone sober was on the scene at all times.

I even cooked dinner!

And I deserved it!

It's been a day and a half.

Seriously.

Cheers!

Help!

2010-02-17T07:04:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to figure out what I want to cook for dinner. Any suggestions? Recipes? Alms for the poor?

Dear Miami

2010-02-07T04:27:00.000-08:00

(When this letter first gained noriety, many assumed it was done anonomously, however, it was written by Times Picayune writer, Mark Lorando. It describes the sentiment of many a Miami Bound Saints fan. Just thought you'd all enjoy on this momentous Super Bowl day! Who Dat!)

Dear Miami,

The Saints are coming. And so are we, their loyal, long-suffering and slightly discombobulated Super Bowl-bound fans.
While there's still time to prepare -- although a few hard-core Who Dats will begin trickling in Monday, most of us won't arrive until Thursday or Friday -- we thought we'd give you a heads-up about what you should expect.
First things first: You need more beer.
Yeah, we know. You ordered extra. You think you have more than any group of humans could possibly consume in one week. Trust us. You don't.
New Orleans was a drinking town long before the Saints drove us to drink. But it turns out beer tastes better when you're winning. (Who knew?) So let's just say we're thirsty for more than a championship; adjust your stockpiles accordingly..
And look. When we ask you for a go-cup, be nice to us. We don't even know what "open container law" means. Is that anything like "last call"?
It's Carnival season in New Orleans (that's Mardi Gras to you), and we'll be taking the celebration on the road. So don't be startled if you walk past us and we throw stuff at you; that's just our way of saying hello.
Oh, and sorry in advance about those beads we leave dangling from your palm trees. We just can't help ourselves.
February is also crawfish season, and you can be sure that more than one enterprising tailgater will figure out a way to transport a couple sacks of live mudbugs and a boiling pot to Miami.
When the dude in the 'Who Dat' T-shirt asks if you want to suck da head and pinch da tail, resist the urge to punch him. He's not propositioning you. He's inviting you to dinner.
And if you see a big Cajun guy who looks exactly like an old Saints quarterback walking around town in a dress ... don't ask. It's a long story.
We know that crowd control is a major concern for any Super Bowl host city. Our advice? Put away the riot gear.
Reason No. 1: Indianapolis is going to lose, and their fans are way too dull to start a riot.
Reason No. 2: New Orleans showed the world on Sunday that we know how to throw a victory party. We don't burn cars. We dance on them.
Reason No. 3: Even if we did lose, which we won't, leaving the stadium would be like leaving a funeral, and our typical response to that is to have a parade.
Speaking of which: If you happen to see a brass band roll by, followed by a line of folks waving their handkerchiefs, you're not supposed to just stand there and watch. As our own Irma Thomas would say, get your backfield in motion.
And hey, Mister DJ! Yes, we know you've already played that stupid Ying Yang Twins song 10 times tonight, but indulge us just one more time.
To us, "Halftime (Stand Up and Get Crunk)" isn't just a song; it's 576 points of good memories. It's the sound of a Drew Brees touchdown pass to Devery Henderson, a Pierre Thomas dive for first down on 4th-and-1, a Garrett Hartley field goal sailing through the uprights in overtime.
It's what a championship sounds like. You may get sick of hearing it. We won't. Encore, dammit.
Inside Sun Life Stadium, you may find your ears ringing more than usual. We're louder than other fans. Seven thousand of ours sound like 70,000 of theirs.
Don't believe us? Ask the 12th man in the Vikings huddle.
Some people think it's just the Dome that heightens our volume. But you're about to discover a little secret: We can scream loud enough to make your head explode, indoors or out.
It's not the roof. It's the heart.
Well, OK, and the beer.
Don't be surprised if there are more Saints fans outside the stadium than inside. A lot of us are coming just to say we were part of history, even if we can't witness it up close. The Saints are family to us, and you know how it is with family: We want to be there for them, whether they really need us or not. Because we know our presence will mean something to them, whether they can see us or not.
Come to think of it, seeing as how you're taking us in for the week, we pretty much regard you as family, too. So we're warning you now: If you're within hugging distance, you're fair game.
Hugging strangers is a proud Who Dat tradition, right up there with crying when we win.
Most sports fans cry when their teams lose. Not us. We've been losing gracefully and with good humor for 43 years. Tragedy and disappointment don't faze us. It's success that makes us go to pieces.
Hurricane Katrina? We got that under control. The Saints in the Super Bowl? SOMEBODY CALL A PARAMEDIC!!!
So anyway, don't let the tears of joy freak you out. We're just ... disoriented.
OK. Let's review:
Order more beer. Throw me something, mister. Suck da heads. Wear da dress. Stand up. Get crunk. Hug it out. Protect your eardrums. Pass the Kleenex. Hoist the trophy.
See you at the victory party.

Faithfully yours,
The Who Dat Nation

Listen to the Band

2010-02-06T09:53:00.001-08:00

Starting with the addition of money to my wallet, music has been a central part of my house (is a very, very, very fine house) and home.

Actually, thinking back, it was way before that. I am the eldest of my mom's second marriage, and have 4 older half brothers and sister. Needless to say, much of their music seeped into my bones well before I even knew how to walk. Along with my parent's affinity for honky tonk greats like Merle Haggard and George Jones, my brothers and sisters added "The Beatles," "The Stones," "Pink Floyd," and a huge arrangement of both pop and (pot) head classics. I grew up with a virtual melting pot of music at the tip of my 8 track vinyl fingers.

Yes, I knew the lyrics to "Bridge of Sighs" (okay, so they're aren't that many of them).
Yes, I listened to Jimmy Hendricks after he was cool, when he wasn't as cool, and when he became cool again.
I knew who Bob Marley was when he first shot the sheriff.

I do listen to most everything listenable (however, I stop at rap...aside from the Beasty Boys, of course...No Sleep Til Brooklyn!).

But even more than the pride I have in my music diversity, I am happy to say that this listening trend has arced off of me, and has become deeply rooted into my beautiful teenage girls. They grew up listening to my passion of the week... be it "The Doors" or "Sarah Brightman." "Kate Rusby" or "Stained." When my iPod playlist tends to become stagnate, I know that it can be refreshed by uploading a few of theirs.

Many a jewel I have found from their playlist including "This is My Suitcase" "Mika" hits from the musical "Spring Awakening" and my latest obsession, "Matt and Kim" (oh, I love their tune, Daylight).

My girls rock.

I hope to gain much more from them.

Long may they rock n roll.

Who Dat? Who Dat?

2010-01-24T18:48:00.000-08:00

So, it's about 2 min. left in the game and I had to walk away. The anxiety is killing me, and I don't even LIKE football!!!

Who dat? Who Dat? Who dat say they gonna beat them Saints?

All this waiting around is giving me gas!

And that's they way the cookie crumbles

2010-01-17T08:46:00.000-08:00

Except it wasn't a cookie, it was my tooth. It was my perfect, grand sized molar, and it didn't crumble, it cracked from top to bottom and split all the way to the gum, and broke.

And the restaurant owner didn't even apologize.

Now the lunch thank you I bought for my sister has turned into a nine hundred dollar crown, and an unknown cost of gum surgery.

Ouch.

Steal Away

2010-01-05T17:17:00.000-08:00

I'm going to steal Tammy's phrase and let you all know that Chip Coffey turns me into...

Yes...That's right...

A Squealy Fangirl.

Now I wouldn't go as far as to say Chip has replaced Vin Disel in my fangirl heart of hearts, but he's my new "main" man.

Meet Chip.

Chip Coffey.

Don't know Chip? I'll have to introduce you to him some other time. I've got an 8:00 date with him, and I dare not be late!

That's What I Like About You

2010-01-02T08:35:00.000-08:00

2010...The first decade into the 21st Century, and no Buck Rogers. What the hell? No Captain Kirk, hovering skateboards, flying cars, and vacation trips to Mars, either. And seriously? That suits me just fine.

Although the 21st century doesn't have me booking my first flight to Mars (hellfire, I haven't even been off of the continent so Mars would be on the back burner anyway), it has seen me through a great many, many accomplishments.

Yes.

This is one of "those" posts.

Feel free to join in.

1. I graduated from college in 1999 (does that count? Yes, I think it does) and got my first job teaching. My first real job that came with benefits and a salary that exceeded minimum wage. Woot!

2. I began, and ended, my thirties. I absolutely love being in my thirties. It was fabulous.

3. I battled, and beat into the ground, the beast called cancer. I was diagnosed in Spring 2000 with APL Leukemia, went into remission, and as of January 2010, been cancer free (aside from a brief bout of basal cell on the nose) for almost a decade! Boy, it feels good to say that; a decade free.

4. I had sex. I had LOTS of sex. . . loads even.

5. I met a seriously good looking and totally sexy guy, and then married him. No big feat, I know, but for me to even take that step into a direction I avoided like the plague for most of my life, it was HUGE.

6. I'm still married.

7. I'm STILL married. (worth repeating)

8. Starting June, 2005, I began having babies again. We said hello to three of them, actually. This was quite a surprising event in our lives considering a specialist, an oncologist, and my general practitioner all said I'd probably not have children again.

Ha. I guess I showed them.

9. I survived Hurricane Katrina only to be battered by Hurricane Rita, only to move back in time to Survive Hurricane Gustav and get beaten by Hurricane Ike. Yeah, the floor plans are still out on that one!

And just to keep the list down to ten...

10. I ate Sushi.

So

Here's to good friends, cheap wine, and a quick goodbye to 2009.

Hello 2010.

Don't Know Why

2009-12-26T19:54:00.000-08:00

Seriously, I don't know why I've been avoiding this blog like the plague. I'm not even sure I'm spelling plague correctly even, but avoiding is what it is. To the point, even, that I have it on my favorites, and I avoid using even that! Fear, I believe, fear of find out that everything I did last year went down the toilet when I went back to work.

I don't blog anymore.

I don't know why I don't blog anymore.

I was really good at it.

I loved the people I met here.

I loved the blogs I read here.

I loved the back and forth banter here.

So, I won't call this a comeback, although I do hope it is. I do hope those of you who came before will come back again.

Merry Christmas, Kaye.

And a Happy New Year to all of you!

Just Bounce With Me

2009-11-17T04:02:00.000-08:00

"No, come on, it's easy. I promise. All you gotta do is just bend at the knee, keeping time with the beat. Just bounce with me, and every once in a while pop your hip to the side. If you drink at the same time it won't look as bad, either. Just drink fast cos your beer goes flat if you don't."

Yes, those words came out of the mouth of...me.

Going out ten years ago was cake. It was a whole lot of cake. Chocolate even. We'd open the night at a restaurant bar, stay for about an hour, and then mosey on down the street (literally...it was across the road) to the local meat house for the "older" people, and dance and drink til "closing time" (remember that song?...I know who I want to take me home). Waking up the next day only produced slight soreness in the legs and a vague smell of tobacco and beer on your breath. Nine out of ten times, the stale smell seeping slowly through the air served as enticement and encouragement for a night of the same.

Good times...good times.

As luck, fate, and whatever the hell you want to call it, I found myself chaperoning a dance Friday night. Someone (me) came up with the bright idea to go to the neighboring bar (small, local, full of "mature" men). I mean, we were there, we were old enough (forty is old enough, right?), and the dance ended at eight so there was sure to be more than enough time for us to socialize and have a good time sans kids (snicker). So we went.

Well...remember a few posts back? My newly single boss? Female? Attractive? Single? Female?

Seems like all of those nice "mature" patrons of the local watering hole wanted to keep her and company with a nice supply of water. Round after round after round, and before you know it, we were leaving the safe watering hole, filled with lions wearing dentures and venturing out to the big town...teeming with cheetahs.

Or so we thought.

I have to say, I picked a good time to be married. The female:male ratio is like 1,000,000 to 2, and I have to say, the odds are not in the female favor. Cheese and rice, when did that population boom bust out at the seems?

All said, we had a good time. Drank lots of beer. Listened to a good band. Smoked. I must smoke when I drink. It goes hand in hand...literally.

I must say though, flashing forward ten years and waking up the next day, beer and stale smoke playing tag on the strip of my tongue, didn't have the same effect on me as it once did. There was no repeat performance that Saturday night. My legs creaked, my ass ached, I had gas.

But it was worth it.

We're doing it again this weekend.

This time the husband is coming.

It's some one's birthday.

Good times...good times.

To Everything Turn Turn Turn

2009-11-02T18:40:00.000-08:00

My heart is big (almost the same size as my butt, actually). My heart is worn on my sleeve, it resides behind walls, it tears down walls, it's guarded, it's vulnerable, it's soft, it's hard, it breaks, it mends, it closes, it opens. I strongly believe that this is the case with just about every heart that beats.

Sometimes we are blinded.

Sometimes we are hurt.

Sometimes we are riding high.

Sometimes we just are.

Travis, as you all know, hurt my heart with his death. The part that holds his memory bleeds freely. And I thought it would never truly heal. Maybe I was wrong.

I have been using Travis.

He has been visiting my classroom, my students, my school, and me.

Last week our school's air conditioner was broken. Air conditioner? Yes, air conditioner. WE live in the south. It's still hot here. Really hot, and sometimes, unbearably hot. Due to the complete misery in the classroom, I took my classes outside for the teaching. And by the twisted fate of a broken air conditioner, I was able to share Travis's story with my class.

You see, we have a boy. I will call him boy. Not the best family, not the best situation, not the best choices available. He has two roads ahead of him. One filled with the same decisions his parents made. One that leads him to the same life he was brought up in. One that is easy for him to take because the way is already paved. Then there is the one that will be hardest. The one that forces him to break away from what he knows...to rise above all that he has known. Not an easy one. I was able to tell him the story of Travis. His struggle, his downfall, his rising from the ashes, and his ending. I told him of how even though claimed by death, he had become finally free.

As the words moved beyond my lips, I felt that I had lost all control over what I was actually saying. The story I was telling was ringing with power. I wish you could have heard it. There was true power there.

I think he heard.

I hope he heard.

My heart has started to heal.

Homecoming 2009

2009-10-19T18:52:00.000-07:00

Where did the time go? Once upon a time they were in diapers and toddling precariously across granny's kitchen floor. Once upon a time they declared undying love and devotion while falling asleep in each other's arms. Once upon a time their best friend was just an arm's length away.

Now they are grown. Now they only love each other when mommy has had enough of the teen age waste land they create with their words of wrath. Now they have iPod, PC, boyfriends, and foot ball games.

Soon they will move on. Soon they will graduate. Soon they will go to college, find their true love, marry, and bring home babies of their own.

Their cycle will renew. Their cycle will reverse. They will remember who they are, and from whom they came, and to whom they first gave their hearts too.

And they will remember their best friend.

And they will remember each other.

Just like we did.

Here's to homecoming 09!

Wow!

2009-10-14T16:54:00.000-07:00

What a frenzied flurry! My weeks are super busy, but I solemnly swear to personally (or hire someone else to do it) visit each and every one of you who graced me with your presence for my SiTS FB day. I am truly honored by your responses, and the time you took to read through my posts.

Tammy, Pam, Anita, Kaye, Tink, and the rest of you (yes, YOU know who YOU are) who have been stuck with me over the ages, thank you for your visit and the amazingly lovely things you mentioned about me not only here, but at SiTS roll call as well. YOU GUYS ROCK THE CASBAH!

I promise more time, and time freely given.

Thanks, guys.

Welcome to the Show, Come inside, come inside

2009-10-13T03:00:00.000-07:00

The kettle is on...the coffee is brewing...I had my young daughter make muffins...the potatoes are stewing...

Ah, what? You're not here for the evening of amateur poetry night? You're a coneseur of SiTS and BiTS?

Well, you can come in too! It's been ages, I'm glad to see ya!

Just to tell you a bit about myself...I'm Alex, married mom of five ranging from ages 18 to 1, and in hot pursuit of my sanity. If you see it lurking under a rug, or in some hidden corner, throw a bucket over it and let me know before you head out. It always seems to escape me, especially now that I've returned full fledged to the "working" mom field (ha ha ha...that cracks me up...now that I've experienced being a SaHM the definition of "working" mom has forever changed). Please ignore the cobwebs, my blog has fallen into a slight state of disrepair. Nothing that scented candles can't cover up!

Anyway, welcome to my blog. I am honored and privileged to have been chosen as the Tuesday Featured Blogger. Welcome, welcome. May you enjoy my written word as much as I do (yes, there are times when I just crack myself up). Here are just a few of my favorites sure to bust your gut or water your eyes.

What is Old again is Now New
The Number you are trying to reach is no longer in service
You kiss your momma with that mouth?

Now that I've had my spiel, please feel free to read on. I've touched on just about every topic I could think of...and if you notice the lovely awards I've gotten over my blogging time, they are active links to brilliant people who think I'm brilliant too.

How could one go wrong with brilliance, especially if you have a great pair of shades.

Thanks for coming, and don't forget to take your gift dinner mints when you head out!

Reality

2009-10-06T19:21:00.000-07:00

I've never been much of a reality T. V. fan (except, of course, when Chris Daughtry was on American Idol). The bickering, "off camera" plots, ugly, back-biting nastiness made my stomach roll and churn more than the Bering Sea (Okay, busted...I'm a sucker for The Deadliest Catch). However, this year my daughter has tickled my curiosity (along with the fact that her former English teacher is one of this year's contestants and she won't tell us the outcome...grrr). This year the reality T. V. is closer to home in more ways than one. This year something has caught the corner of my eye, and its roots are deeply embedded in reality T. V.

Biggest Loser is into its second (?) season.

I'm sure you've heard of it. Men and women struggling with obesity are paired up and paired off in a competition to take off pounds...and let me tell you...are they ever. You'd have to see it for yourself to believe it. Seriously, due to the week long intervals between shows, the pounds seem to literally melt off. However, if you've even tuned in to one show, melting is definitely what is not happening. These guys are working their asses off, and competition or not, the support they provide to each other makes one wonder if you're actually watching a back biting, hash slinging reality show of the twenty first century. When it comes time for elimination, contestants are literally in tears at having to make the decision to send someone home, knowing full well the hardships and temptations that person will have to face minus the support group they have come to depend on over time.

Having been in the boat they are in, and finding myself still taking a ride in that same boat, I sit and share the pain they are experiencing. Yes, I cry. Yes, my daughter laughs at me, but still, the tears come. Whew, the courage. Phew, the pain, Whoa, having to walk out and be recorded wearing those damn exercises bras. Jeez, is it really worth it?

Apparently, it is. And I say more power to them. Live long and prosper. May the road rise with you. Shake your booty. You're a brick...house.

Gotta love it.

Ciao, Bella

2009-09-21T16:22:00.000-07:00

My baby sister has added a fifth addition to her home, Miss Isabella Cait. If you'd like to see a bundle of roly poly, feel free to click on the link and greet Miss Bella. Apparently, she was so interested in making her entrance to our universe more grand than either of her brothers and sister, (her youngest brother was delivered on a triage gurney) that she chose the ambulance rolling gurney as the birthing bed, and the hospital parking lot as the labor and delivery room! What a birth. Mom and daughter are making their way towards recovery, although Bella is struggling with a case of jaundice that will require a few more days in the pedatric unit. Go tell her hello! Babies are like puppies and kittens, we love em til their poop starts to stink!

con flick ted

2009-09-10T12:04:00.000-07:00

I've been married not quite as long as many of you out there have been. I'm like Leo, a late bloomer, that is when I decide to even wear bloomers. Hate the damn things, always cutting off your circulation, and they are either too small or too large. Perfect isn't even in the vocabulary.

However, I'm not here to talk about bloomers or the lack thereof.

June will make my seven year anniversary. Feeling itchy yet? Let me tell you, if there were any itches to be found, I think it would have happened long before seven years. Why wait seven years to scratch an itch anyway? And if you're going to be itchy, why marry someone you're allergic to in the FIRST place?

Anyway, I lived my life in reverse, I suppose. I had my daughters, reared them as a single mom for ten plus years, and then met my husband. He fit in well, so we decided to keep him. We've been together for about 8 years or so, six of them as dearly beloveds. And while it has been quite a lovely trip for us all, we've had our share of speed bumps, pot holes, and hole in the walls (yes, throwing shoes and chairs across the room can often create holey results). Add three more offspring to the mix, stir and serve chilled over ice and there is my family. Love them. All of them.

A friend of mine went the complete opposite route. She went to college, married, created offspring, became employed, careered, and after 17 odd years...divorced. She's entering the world I left not so long ago. Dating, searching, dividing, and conquering. But the thing is, when you're originally single (completely...like no kids...no ex husband), the "world" is different. Your view on relationships is different. It is easier to date because you don't have that instant reflex of fidelity, commitment, relationship, stop screwing around with other people, kind of attitude. Your attitude on relationships is still on "marriage" mode because for the longest time that is what you had. Get it? It's hard getting back that "single" lifestyle. You probably don't even like the guy you're dating "that" much, but for the last ten to fifteen years, you've only been with one guy, so that is what you know.

Weird, isn't it, when you think about it.

Last week, Kathleen, over at Easy for Me, asked about the differences between solitude and loneliness. I think having that person with you for the longest time, sharing routines, responsibilities, and the bed suddenly up and get can leave you to the path of both. My friend, the one who left her marriage of upteen years, is experiencing both: the peace of solitude that comes from making a decision that was right for her family as well as her, and the loneliness of not having someone there to share with: the day, the night, the waking moments, and the sleeping moments.

So, here's to you, chicky. May you wake up between the sheets and say WTF, I'm cooler than that.

At What Point?

2009-09-03T20:20:00.000-07:00

At what point do you decide to make the one decision that will change your life forever? When do you decide that enough is enough and the most you want to make out of life is waking up, caring for your family, and live for YOUR day? When? What makes that final straw final?

I still get joy from teaching. I still can make them laugh. I can still laugh at them. I can still love them...forgive them...grieve with them...teach them.

For the most part.

There are those days...there are "those" days...and there are days like today. Today was tough. For one, I've spent the majority of the week thinking Monday was Wednesday and Thursday was Friday. Makes for a terribly loooonnnnngggg week. To make matters even better (heavy laced sarcasm), they think that teaching just isn't enough, they must also pile on so much paper work that even the trees growing in Brooklyn must be a shakin with enough fear to skin their bark. It's hard to imagine why test scores are flailing when it is more important for teachers to cross their t's and dot their i's instead of getting down to what matters.

Teaching.

Of course, when you are finally able to step in and teach, you have the Little Johnnys of the world sitting in their desks just daring you to be the adult in the class and challenge their snot nosed sarcastic attitudes with sugar and spice and you better treat me nice or I will cross my arms, pout, and refuse to do anything resembling class work until you have to threaten me with detention in which I will catch a fit, call you a liar, and pretend that my mom is going to beat me if you call her on the phone. Yes, that is a true story!

Enough!

When is enough?

Today was enough. . . But just for today. I will be back again tomorrow.

After all the tears, after all the jeers, crossing of arms, eyes that kill...Sixth period came along.

Thank whatever Gods may be for even the smallest of miracles.

Andy danced for us today. I swear I thought he was going to break something, but he just threw himself on the floor and started spinning around in his own semblance of a break dance. I'm teaching my sixth period class to call the principal "School Master." She gets a kick out of it. We get a kick out of calling her that. Small miracles, huh?

Gotta love em.

Introducing Andy

2009-08-28T20:14:00.000-07:00

I want you all to meet Andy. Due to privacy rights and such, I won't be posting his charming face here, too bad, too, because he would have captured your heart as well. Andy has been diagnosed with autism, however, he has to be one of the most social autistic boys I've ever taught, and I've taught quite a few autistic children. Andy has a power about him that sends out threads emanating from every pore in his body. These threads stream out and slowly tuck into you, immersing Andy's charisma deep into the hapless victim before they even suspect it. I know this...I'm a victim. He's smart, he's charming, he's bright, he's unaware of the effect he has on people. They are automatically drawn to him, and I just can't figure the how or why. He demonstrated break dancing for the class today. It was wonderful. It was astounding. It didn't look a think like break dancing, but Andy just held up his hand to someone saying that's not break dancing and said, Now wait, (holding out his hands) I never told you it was break dancing. It's my dance

Now that I am giving him time alone, just me, him, and my post, I think Andy is for us, what Yoga is for Madonna. He touches our inner peace and allows it to work again. Sometimes all he can deliver is a vacant stare, but when he is on the go, what he gives is priceless. I wish you could all meet Andy. He is a diamond in the rough.

What was old again is now new

2009-08-17T19:57:00.000-07:00

Crayon smells drifting from a newly opened box, paste, not glue, smeared across pieces of construction paper, and the smell of old paper back books stacked once again on a rickety bookshelf bring back the welcome of returning to school. Stacked with that also comes the slam of lockers, screeching of new shoes, and voices dreading and loving being back in the halls of the hallowed. Even as a teacher, my nose has a hard time resisting the urge to bury itself within the box of newly opened crayons, or smear glue over the palm of my hand creating faux dead skin. Admit it, you all did that at least once in your life...if not...you;re missing something wonderful.

Walking back into the school year was as rough, and not as rough, as I expected. Getting into the swing of thing, flooding my brain with new curriculum (ugh), a new reading series, and one hundred fifty students to learn from, and of course, educate. With it, though, came a flood of memories that find my healed heart hurting once more, and I find myself dealing with a grief I thought I had managed. I find myself grieving once again...and I'm okay with that.

So once again I share with you this story.

We were both new. The size and volume flowing through the halls of the school threatened to bulldoze the both of us, and although we were eager to meet and greet the swarm of people buzzing around us, the sheer number of over one hundred fifth graders threatened to topple the poorly assembled self confidence that allowed us to put one foot in front of the other.

It was my first teaching assignment...well...my first one that had me teaching a full classroom for more than one week at a time. I was a student teacher. Christmas break was over, and the kids were definitely not ready to begin the second half of the school year. Standing in front of the class (did I mention that I was shy?) being introduced to the reluctant prisoners, I could smell the nervous sweat emerging from pores I didn't know existed. I had no idea fifth graders could be so intimidating. And right when the buzz saws starting going off in my head and I knew I"d be making imminent contact with the concrete floor, totally embarrassing myself, he walked in and saved me.

He was the new kid; just moved in from another school. His fist clutched tightly around a stack of pencils, a worn out binder, and a school bag slung across his shoulder were the weapons of choice. However, he clearly won the battle with a huge smile as he introduced himself, Travis...came from so and so school...mom just moved back to hometown...where do I sit?...and so on. Together we took on the school and awkwardly danced our way through the fifth grade year. But this really isn't about me at all, and then again, it is.

You see, teachers love their kids...we really do. Well, most of them anyway. When they walk through those doors of the hallowed insane, they become ours, and we love them and teach them and encourage them to reach for the stars and tackle the universe. But every once in awhile there comes a student that for some reason invokes more. And even though you only have them for a short while, the impact they make on your life lasts forever. For me, Travis was that student.

His fifth grade year wasn't all peaches and cream. Although he had that winning smile, it wasn't easy for Travis to make friends. As far as school went, Travis was an average kid that loved science and never did his homework. His bowl cut hair and ill fitting jeans kept him apart from most kids, but eventually he found a niche with a small group of boys, trading cards and telling stories. The stories that child would tell like the time his mom introduced him to this famous rock star, or the time he got to stay up all night playing some game, and how his parents let him do whatever he wants, and why he didn't do his homework because his step dad punished him last night and made him did holes in the backyard and then fill them back up again and he was doing that until 2:00 in the morning. Or the time he threw him out in the middle of a winter night wearing nothing but boxers because he was being too loud. I wanted to take him home. Keep him safe. Allow no harm to come to him again. He moved before the year came to an end.

He came back the next year, and then moved again. Two years later he returned once more. He was no longer the scruffy little guy in ill fitting jeans struggling to fit in. He fit in. Not with the best of crowds either, but he fit in. His eight grade year was a rough one, in and out of trouble, in and out of school. He found his first love, albeit a rather young first love, and finally, moved on to high school. Of course, it wasn't all caviar and champagne. Travis fell into a rough crowd, dropped out of school, and just kind of wandered. I never knew when I was going to pick up a paper and read about his incarceration or even worse, death. And even though I was no longer his teacher, I still wanted him to succeed. To get out of the rut he was in. To become, as corny and cliched as it sounds, the man he ought to be. I still loved that kid.

I saw Travis last spring, and you wouldn't believe the turn he had made. Yes, he was still the goofy kid I taught in fifth grade. They never do grow up you know. But he had reached his turning point. He was clean, drug-free, sober. He was employed, responsible, alive. He was in love, and with the same little girl he had met in eight grade, and she loved him in return. He had gone back and earned his G.E.D. His life was on the road to recovery and damn it all he was becoming the man he ought to be. I had never been so proud. We talked for a while, I think I told him how proud I was at least a half a million times before giving him the teacher student hug and walking away. I cried, not in front of him of course, did the Calvin and Hobbes happy dance, and went back to school and told everyone I could meet that my baby boy was becoming a man. You see, I wasn't the only one whose heart Travis had captured. The science teacher became his "mom" during sixth grade, and in the eight grade, the guidance counselor adopted him. We loved him. We were his alter ego moms. He made us proud.

Travis died in February. He was killed after loosing control of his car and crashing into a tree. I am going to miss that kid. The one I saw grow up into a man. And I will always remember him as the fifth grade boy who walked into my classroom and stole my heart.

Day Two with Other People's Children

2009-08-11T15:47:00.000-07:00

Oh

My

Lanta.

This will be one heck of a year.

A Top Ten

2009-08-08T19:27:00.000-07:00

As I have posted previously, this week marked the week of my return to the work field, and while the negatives of my return are surely numerous, the positives have been piling up, thankfully, so all is not for naught but a paycheck.

Of the positives that have I have been collecting:

Humans. Yes, they really do exist (faint)!

Voices, other than the ones sounding off in my head and from the lips of small children.

A different sense of purpose other than using a toothpick to scrape off things from under my nails that must NOT be named (or eaten, tasted, and smelled either).

Silence while the sun is still shining and my eyes are open.

Lunch that is MINE, all mine.

Dropping the kids off at daycare.

Looking forward to picking the kids up at daycare.

Missing them during the day.

Not having to cook, uh huh...yeah...uh huh. Wait...nevermind. I still have to cook. Damnuson.

and the top positive that comes with the return to work...

::drumroll::

::dramatic pause::

Going to the bathroom by myself and not having six hands knocking, three mouths wailing, six feet stomping, three persons demanding to be let in.

PIP (potty in peace)...who'da thunk.

Now, while I have a moment to my PC, I'd like to extend my thanks to Ms. Viv and Ms. Fiona who have bestowed upon me ego boosting awards...I am humbled and honored. The awards are posted in my side bar with an active link to each of these wonderful blogger's blogs. Thanks, gals.

By the way, Ms. Savant, you never muck up anything when you drop by for a visit...ever...no matter what the topic.

Don'tcha Want My Body...and You Think I'm Sexy: A Sookie Stackhouse Review

2009-08-07T19:05:00.000-07:00

Double, Double, Toil, and Trouble, the witches have invaded Louisiana, and our rust flavored heroine finds herself bubblin deep in the cauldron's melting pot.

In Charlaine Harris's "Dead to the World," another New Year's Eve has come and gone, and Miss Popularity, Sookie Stackhouse finds herself spending it at Bon Temp's local watering hole, Merlotte's...working. Although the past few whirlwind months of Sookie's life was filled with hot dogs and cold meat, New Year's Eve finds our beloved blond still holding on to her summer tan for dear life, but desperately single. Contemplating the fate of a cold, lonely bed, Sookie's drive home finds her something even colder, a half naked, barefooted hunka hunka burning vamp by the name of none other, Eric Northman. The problem is, as Sookie is soon to realize, Shreveport's sexiest vampire hasn't got a clue as to who he is, where he's going, and to whom he is running.

Dorthy's tornado has nothing on the whirlwind adventure Eric's amnesia takes Sookie on: Witches, bitches, and a were in disguise! Sookie sets out to find the keeper of Eric's memory, dodge a bitch in heat, and find her missing brother.

Could life get any more complicated?

Will our eternally tanned, blond, ponytail wearing heroine make it through the wilderness without losing her life, or her heart?

This time it's Eric Northman...and he ain't just playin Dixie...

Eric Northman says, "Sookie"

Words of Wisdom

2009-08-01T06:37:00.001-07:00

This is just a rambling of ramblings, nothing to write home about but something to sit to tea with.

First note of business! Take a moment to click on this link here and read the words of wisdom that came from the mouth of Lynn. I am so thankful I did. I had NO idea that my nether regions were much smarter than my upper regions! Brilliant, just BRILLIANT, I say.

Next point of meaning! I've been out of the loop lately. Quite out of the loop. I miss being able to calmly read my normally scheduled blog spots, add my two cents, or just laugh for laughings sake. Life here has been quite chaotic. Girls in band camp, my arm hurting like the hounds of hell have been chewing on it, havoc, you name it. To those of you I follow like Kirstie Alley stalking Jenny Craig, I have not abandoned thee, its just these new meds I'm on make me pee alot, and whine alot, and sleep alot, and make my housework grow alot, and it just drains my courage at attempting anything that remotely causes my brain to function alongside the ass that needs to function all at the same time. I'll figure it out someday.

Moving right along, Sandy at It's a Jungle Out There (Or something near like), has awarded me with a most honorably mentioned award. I have it displayed on my side bar (Or will once I'm done writing this here post). She thinks my commenting style is worth something mentioning...Personally, I feel that in most of the blogs I read, comments just have a way of finding themselves left behind. I read some of the most comment worthy blogs. I would hope that mine can only inspire the same. The award calls for me to nominate five amazing commenters as well...Well, truth is, even if you're stopping by to say hello on an average basis, in my eyes, that makes you pretty darn amazing. I honestly would have stopped writing long ago if I didn't have anyone stopping by to share their opinions on what I have to say. Silence is golden, but not here buddy. So I share this award with YOU. All of you. Yes, I know what you're thinking...I've got a case of lazy ass that won't let me link up your names to your websites so I'm taking the easy way out (busted!), but that's not true...not true at all. Sandy is a wonderful commenter who like Pam comments back when you comment on her posts...it's like having a wonderful conversation. Kathleen builds my ego up so large that a dull pencil could probably pop it after reading the comments she leaves behind for me (she's a comment back person like Sandy and Pam as well), Housewife Savant's comments are like reading mini posts when she stops by...if they fail to crack you up, then the post material was too maudlin and it's time to refocus. When Anita and Tammy stop by to leave their words of wisdom, I feel like I just got off of the phone with them and they imparted crucial information to some serious chic flick drama, Mimi is just a rollicking bellyful of laughs when she stops by...I swear her comments make my monitor tremble with her joyful noise, and Brandy is into vampires...well sexy vampires just like me! But when I'm asked to hand out awards I feel like I'm going to leave someone out accidental...someone that definitely deserves a mention like MsMoonlight, a comment backer like Pam and Sandy, too, but she's got BEEFCAKE...er...a really nice layout on her blog...very tasteful...very peaceful...just very. ah hem. Yes. She and Ms. Fiona are new to my commenting world. I feel like I'm at the oscars and the band is starting to play over my speech...so I'd also like to include Ms. Tink, Ms. Kaye and Ms. Viv. My commenting section would be quite lonely without you. In leaving this section, have I cheapened this award by offering it to more than five of you? No, I think not. It is more of an honor to me when you decide to take the time to leave a few words of encouragement, wisdom, humor, or just plain saying hey, howya doin. Thanks, guys. (see? even as I speak I am leaving out Sheila and Yaya, how can I even think of doing that?)

I am going to be making an effort to step away from my maudlin posts for a while. Things have been crazy here!

On parting. The school year is starting up...soon...very soon...knocking on my back door...August 6th. I ignored it for as long as I could, but knocking it did a come. Beginning August 6th, I am leaving my year long sabbatical and heading back into the work force. Not willingly, I will tell you now, but not kicking and screaming either (I will save that part for later). Not being a SAHM, and having oodles of test papers to grade, lesson plans to write, and books to read will surly knock into the time I've been able to spend here, writing and reading and commenting. So, Pam, please don't clean up your blog list and throw me out. I'm still here, I promise! (plus it would break my heart to pieces!). That goes to all of you...don't clean your blog list and throw me out. I'm still here. I'm still reading you guys. And I will still be writing as well.

Just not as much.

And my humor may take on a bitter sound.

And I may complain alot.

And I may talk about playing the lottery.

And I may cast poisonous eye darts to the majority of you.

And I will definitely be counting the days.

Now

2009-07-31T12:23:00.000-07:00

Tuesday night, or in all actuality, Wednesday morning, just after midnight, I was awakened by the sound of speeding cars, the flashing of blue and red lights, and a low-flying helicopter. With the sounds fading off into the distance, and not being in the habit of chasing ambulance/fire trucks/speeding policemen, I tugged the blankets off of my stingy blanket burdened husband telling him that something bad must have happened down the bayou (everything is down the bayou where we live). He muttered something about cold feet and went back to sleep. I spent the night listening to a circling helicopter and hoping that someone's child was not missing.

The next morning found me struggling to get out of bed at 7:30 in the morning and dragging my protesting rear end out of bed in order to bring the teens to band camp. No fun for any of us. Before we could leave our small town and drive to their high school, we were stopped by a giant sized road block of police men and their cars. Of course my fluttering mind and harebrained mentality immediately thought of the missing insurance ID and out of date brake tag. Crap. No way out of it, I'm sure they would see if I'd take an alternate route (yeah, our town is that small...not even a stop light). They stopped us, rolled down window, and to my charign, asked me if I knew the man in the picture. He shot a police officer, and had run off into the swamps. No, I didn't know him. I knew his parents. He attended our school five years ago. He's just a kid.

He was just a kid. He came from a broken home, if you could have called it a home to begin with. At school, he was classified as EBD (emotionally behaviorally disturbed), attended a self contained setting, didn't get along well socially with others, and had a behavior plan. Behavior plans target specific behaviors...such as stealing from others...if it's a target behavior...you have a plan put in place to try and fix the targeted behavior. Among other things, many students tend to use these as a get out jail free card. Poor kid just wasn't right in his head. Now added to his own personal challenges, rumor mill has it going on that his father...you know...the one that is suppose to make sure they grow up into a decent upstanding person...was having the step mom drop him and his son at houses undergoing construction in order to help him steal copper that could be stripped and sold. Nice role model there.

He was arrested later that day. The helicopter pinned down his position in a nearby swamp, and some twenty odd officers surrounded him, and fortunately, peacefully arrested him. The police officer that had been shot is now in stable condition, suffering from gunshots to the shoulder, leg, and buttocks.

When asked if the 18 year old had any regrets, he responded simply by saying, "Yeah, I shouldn't have shot him. That's it."

Sometimes I wonder, as a teacher, as a mom, as a citizen, if we are doing justice to the youth of today. I see so many of yesterday's behavior problems, the ones with behavior plans that gave warnings, allowances, this and thats becoming today's crime offenders. What can we do? Honestly? There is only so much that can be done in the classroom and in schools, and even then, without parental involvement and support AND carrying out their part of the plan, what good can it do?

My heart goes out to a kid who has committed a mansize crime and has absolutely NO idea what he is in for now.

Not in MY Town

2009-07-28T07:06:00.000-07:00

I live in a small rural area. Our "city" is roughly thirty minutes away, and is growing at a rapid rate of two fast food restraunts, one department store, and a better than average food dive every three or four months. The population is a cool 100,000 and growing. Not too big, not too small, even though Teen Two prays daily for the addition of a "TGIF." And although it is a small "booming" town, the crime rate has stayed relatively "low."

Yes, we have the usual city crimes: robbery, drug marketing, prostitution, violence, but for the most part the crime scale isn't on the ricktor scale. So, we live in blissful ignorance of big city living. Many people do.

Last week, one of my co-workers experienced what lax, blissful living can do. She was peacefully shopping at the local Wal-Mart. It's the super size one, so you can do all. It was one of the few times where she was able to escape home with only one of her three boys, the four year old. While she was shopping, with her son secured in the shopping buggy, some guy literally picked up her son out of the shopping cart. Just picked him up. She was fortunate enough to be able to grab onto his legs and pull him away from the man, screaming for help at the same time, however, the man was gone before she could get even a description of him. This story makes my blood run cold and hot at the same time. It scares the hell out of me, and at the same time, makes me mad enough to lay a hurtin on someone.

Of course, this story is the one that stays out of the limelight. No need to cause panic to the public. No need to cause undue stress to the masses. I understand all of that. There are no major details to provide. But I am on alert now because of the knowing. I'm on the "watch" when I have to be in a store. Where I might walk three steps away from the buggy to pick up a box of cereal, I am now pushing the cart along with me.

Before the addition of Abs (4), Gus (3), and V (1), I held my breath through the younger years and was on guard like a pit bull hungering for a pound O' manflesh. I thought that once they hit the teenage years, and could trust them enough to be aware of stranger danger, I find that danger is something that is everywhere and for every age. Remember just a few years ago when boyfriend kills girlfriend and chops her up to stuff her into the trunk of his car? That was someone she knew and should have been able to trust!

Is this a sign of times? No, I don't think so. Crimes against humanity have been happening since the dawn of time. Adults preying on children isn't a modern day past time, it has happened since cavemen knew they had something growing between the nethers. The main difference is modern inventions allow for more macabre tools to fall into the hands of monsters trying to pass as humans. Modern communication and the information highway allows for news to travel faster than the Pony Express could deliver. And the worms are coming out into the bright of day instead of staying hidden in the caves they deserve to be buried in.

What do you think?

Another Reading Challenge

2009-07-25T14:08:00.000-07:00

How cool am I, huh? Since I've read this series at least 4 times (except for book one, I've only read it once), I figured I'd go ahead and give this challenge a try. Galley Smith is holding a Harry Potter Reading Challenge just for the fun of it, and the giveaway of it. The fifth grade teacher in me cannot resist the opportunity of winning a new set for my classroom library! Click on the link and check it out. You have a year, ya know.

And the Fur is Gonna Fly: A Sookie Stackhouse Review

2009-07-21T05:42:00.000-07:00

ClubDead: A Sookie Stackhouse Mystery written by Charlaine Harris

A year ago I would have been on the phone dialing 911 before the corpse even hit the floor. But that year had been one long learning curve. (CLUB DEAD, page 19)A year ago would have found Miss Stackhouse still a "Miss" girl trying her best not to read the minds of local Merlotte's customers, and not one Were greeting, Shifter meeting, Vampire dating, "Ms." girl of Bon Temp Louisiana.

Once again Sookie Stackhouse, local waitress to Bon Temp's watering hole and girlfriend to resident vampire, Bill, has been thrown into the loop of things. Things have settled down for Sookie and Bill. No longer threatened by Maenaids, religous fanatics, and sex fiends, the young couple have gotten back to normal...too normal. It seems that Bills no longer interested in locking lips and sinking fangs into Sookie. His new love lies behind the closed circuits of his computer screen...Bill's new "secret" project (www.findafangbanger.com?). Things go downhill from there when Bill mysteriously runs off, leaving Sookie explicit instructions if he should go "missing," in which, of course, he does.

Enter stage door left, Eric Northman. Bill is missing. Not just missing, but he's lied about his original destination, had no inclination of returning to his new lady love, and has flown the coup with "the other woman." Why that stinking no good low down dirty son of a bloodsuckin ho' dog leavin Sookie for another vampire? Apparently so...and now he's gone. Without a trace. Hasta La Vista, baby. And Eric's here to say, "Go get him, Sookie. Bring our boy back home."

Yeah.

Right.

Kings, Queens, and more Vampire Fiends are just a taste of what Sookie's going to have to battle if she wants to have her vampire boyfriend back.

Sookie's off to save the day, but who is going to save her?

So

2009-07-20T09:40:00.000-07:00

After going to a scheduled stress test in order to rule out questions above all questions pertaining to the amount of pain, along with bouts of shortness of breath, I have been experiencing, the good doctor decided to admit me for, yes, you guessed it, further tests. Imagine my surprise when my 15 minute stress test turned into a four day hospital stay.

After being picked, prodded, and poked, we have discovered that:

(according to the heart specialist)

1. I am fat.

2. I need to loose weight.

3. I am fat (yes, he told me this at least twenty times).

4. My heart is operating at 31% in comparison to the average heart that operates between 50 and 57 % (did you know that your heart only works at about 55 to 57%, not 100%?).

(according to the good doctor)

1. My heart is working at 31%.

2. The damage was probably caused by chemotherapy all those years ago.

3. Medications can possibly bring the heart function back up to about 40%.

4. Weight loss will help in the recovery.

5. No more sugary stuff! No cheese! No white bread! No rice! No milk! No citrus fruits!

6. From the scans, stress tests, and angiogram (I think I spelled that wrong), it doesn't look like I suffered a heart attack, however, without the treatment, I was a sure candidate for one.

So, there's my rock and a hard spot!

How've you guys been?

Teaser Tuesday

2009-07-14T10:23:00.000-07:00

A year ago I would have been on the phone dialing 911 before the corpse even hit the floor. But that year had been one long learning curve (Sookie Stackhouse: CLUB DEAD, page 19).

Teaser Tuesday brought to from Charlaine Harris's "Club Dead," A Sookie Stackhouse Mystery. This will be the next book I review in my ongoing Sookie Reading Challenge. Enjoy the tease!

The idea of Teaser Tuesday comes from Ms. Kaye from the road goes on forever. Hope you don't mind me picking this up from you!

To Everything There is a Season

2009-07-13T05:22:00.000-07:00

My eldest wants a tattoo. She actually wants more than one, but she will settle for one for the moment. How can I tell her no? Legally, in a few months, I can't. She's turning. Eightteen. 18. Ten plus eight. Twenty minus two. Nine times nine. 36 divided by 2. You get the picture.

She's also in love, a senior, planning on college, and moving out at the end of this school year.

When she moves out, she'll also be moving in, or at least she plans to, with him, the boyfriend.

What? What! What?

Yes, I know, there is an entire year in between. Lots can happen. Teenagers are fickle.

Sephie is not fickle. Not one bit. Gullible, maybe, naive, more often than not, fickle? No.

Ready to move out on her own? She can't even boil water for cryin out loud.

Momma is so not ready for this. So not ready.

What happened to my baby? The one who ran out of the room in terror when "The Great Mouse Detective" began, but would slip back in after the scary part...the one who staged Brittany Spears karaoke concerts in her granny's living room...the one who made the "hood" club in fifth grade, one that everyone could join...the next crocodile hunter (oh, she was mighty upset when Steve Irwin had a baby girl)...the one who wanted to try out for American Idol, America's Next Top Model, and run off to Broadway. She's been replaced by this almost 18 year old wanting to make decisions for herself.

I know she's leaving home.

I know she's growing up.

I know she's fallen in love.

And while part of me is rejoicing, hoping she'll wait til after college to marry, designing her wedding dress, and waiting for my first grandbaby (no, not now! at least ten years from now)...

The other part of me wants to lock the door and throw away the key.

Book Review: Living Dead in Dallas

2009-07-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

***Spoiler Alert*** If you've been compelled to pick up Sookie and begin reading, there may be some minor spoilers concerning "Dead Until Dark." Minor, not major, so please, enjoy, but if you're the kind of reader that can't know a thing until you have read it for yourself, tread cautiously.***

One would think that after meeting the vampire of her dreams, finding telepathic peace, and dispatching Bon Temp's one and only serial killer, that Sookie Stackhouse would find peace.

Think again.

Sookie Stackhouse, Bon Temp's finest waitress and keeper of the brownest tan, once believed that her life was boring, uneventful, and desperately lonely. Enter Bill Compton, stage door left, vampire extraordinaire, and keeper of silent thoughts. "Living Dead in Dallas" finds the supernatural duo living in Betty Crocker paradise. Sookie warms up the blood for Bill while he warms up her sheets...and walls...and porches...and showers...Amazing heat for a dead guy. And just when things couldn't get any more normal than that, Sookie is thrown into the loop, and for a loop.

Ms. Stackhouse's psychic ability has become a prized possession for the Area 5's local hothouse sheriff, Eric. Apparently, opening an artery for Vampire Bill has made Sookie accessible to the sheriff, and keeping in line with his vampire nature, as well as a bargain struck in the past, Eric has loaned her to one of of the largest vampire nests in the United States...in Dallas. A vampire has gone missing, and Sookie is needed to hunt him down. And honey, this sets up a whole nuther ball game, as well as a new and upcoming church, The Brotherhood of the Sun. It appears that not everyone is as happy as Sookie when it comes to the outted bloodsuckers.

Think Sookie has enough on her plate? Well, what about dessert? She's fit enough, blonde enough, and tanned enough to handle it.

Meet Sookie's new neighbors: A dead body in the car of Bon Temp's finest, the small, quiet town's kinky, smutty, sex ring, and a wild woman that likes her meat raw. You think Sookie's had enough with just a serial killer tracking her Stackhouse self? Think again. We just opened up a whole new can of worms.

Like heroin between the covers of a book, Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse Mysteries are highly addictive, and "Living Dead in Dallas" provides one more score.

Finally

2009-07-10T04:48:00.000-07:00

Meet Avery.

Avery is our youngest son.

He's blond haired, blue-eyed, squishy in more places than I can count, and has completed his first year of life.

He has two middle names, Voreneus Sidney.

When Avery was near the age of seven months (a little before a little after), I noticed his almost complete use of his left hand. I was so excited, a lefty! Finally one of us will be using their right brain. Over time, Avery continued to use his left hand, leaving his right usually dangling at his side. After experimenting with toys, nuks, small items, I realized he wasn't using his right hand at all. He wasn't trying to get up on his hands and knees, he wasn't crawling, and rolling from stomach to back and back to stomach was a chore.

When I brought this to the pediatrician's attention, Avery was referred to the neurology department at Children's Hospital. After a series of questions, poking, prodding, pushing, and shoving, the neurologist sat down and gave me the news.

Avery, more than likely, suffered a stroke in utero. The portion of the brain that controls the right side of his body doesn't seem to be working. With therapy, he can retrain his brain to start sending signals to that side. It's the brain area that isn't working, the right side itself is just missing the commands. There is a roadblock set up in his brain that is keeping the signals from crossing over. This has yet to be confirmed by an MRI (Avery was scheduled to get one in June, but has been suffering with a summer cold that absolutely REFUSES to go away enough so that he can be sedated), but the neuro is almost positive that this is what has happened. He has classic symptoms to a classic case. She also told me that it wasn't my fault. Nothing I did while pregnant caused the stroke to happen. It just happened (I looked it up...there is no known cause...it just happens). I was told to not (stop) beat myself up for realizing there was a problem with Avery so late because up until the seventh month or so, most of babies movements are involuntary muscle jerks which make it seem like the baby is using both sides of the body.

Here is what we can expect from our bright eyed bushy boy.

He will skip the crawling stage more likely (since he is over a year and not crawling...more likely than not). However, he hasn't let this get in the way of his exploration. Avery's method of travel includes rolling, pushing his legs (both of them...seems the right side of his body will mimic what the left side is doing) to reposition his body so he can roll where he chooses, and scooting around on his rear. The scooting, which consists of him being in an upright sitting position is basically him scooting across the floor using his buns of steel, his legs, and feet. I'll get a video of it up here someday. It's the funniest thing I've seen a kid do sans none! It's hysterical. The good doctor says that with therapy, he will regain the use of the right side of his body again, but that his mental learning will be slower than the rest of the kids his age.

Boy, that was a hard one for me to swallow. I think I was handling myself pretty darn good up until that part. Had a hard time not crying at this point. I think I did. And not because I was shamed at having a child with a possible learning disability. Don't even go there. Having worked with children with disabilities, I know first hand how tough it is for them, the ones that truly have a learning disability. That particular road will be a hard one for him. Maybe I did cry a bit in self pity, but my heart was breaking in advance for the struggles my son would have to endure in the future.

Him? How does he feel?

He thinks its cake.

A Rant in the Making

2009-07-09T04:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, I am being a total topic thief today. Thursday's inspiration goes out to two stupendous bloggers, Ms. Sandy and Ms. Savant. In fear of being known as a plagiaristic prat, I shall use a title of my own creation. Thanks, girls.

With our nations economy still rapidly plummeting in a downward direction, eyes turn towards means of finding a solution. More taxes, less taxes, tax breaks, budget cuts, yada and yada, but to no avail. Each solution found seems to predict even more dire consequences to our ever floundering economy. Focus: higher education, better jobs, provide stimulus to stimulate the unstimulateable...YES! That's the solution! Let's do it.

"Yes, boss. Let's!"

"What's the first step?"

"Cut Education."

Why is education, you know, the stepping stone of making the nation a better place, the cornerstone of society, the paved road to riches the first program the eagle eye focus on for measuring and cutting?

Tell me if this makes any sense to you.

I happen to live in a state that ranks 49th in the education system. Yes, that's right, 49th. Many reasons are given: large classes, high student to teacher ratio, lack of classroom supplies, no funding (hey, ever heard of a school board going bankrupt?...it did), under qualified teachers...and the list goes on and on.

Well, let's fix it.

Yes, let's cut funding to higher learning institutions. We'll reduce funding by 3 million to this campus, 7 million to this one, and a couple of million more to this one.

Cut cut cut...Snip snip snip.

Why is education always the first to hit the cutting board?

And that is just higher level learnin. Or is it?

With budget cuts in the works for the 2009-2010 school year, many teachers have already been laid off, forced to move to different locations, and job positions have been removed. With classroom sizes of 30+ to one teacher, the classrooms are in danger of becoming insufficient day cares instead of places of learning. How can you see to the needs of the few when you have throngs of the many huddled together in one room?

How do they fix it?

Cut more.

Offer less.

Take away programs.

Oh, not the ones that are the staples of school environment, but take away art. Drama. Music.

We don't need no kids exposed to them there things. It don't get them an education anyhow, now don't it.

Right.

Cut cut

Snip Snip.

Summer Nights

2009-07-08T10:39:00.000-07:00

((my first wordless Wednesday))

Let's Go To The Movies, Again

2009-07-06T04:05:00.000-07:00

After pausing in the perusal of the people's posting posted over the patriotic parade of the weekend, I noticed that one of my arms looked a bit "off" when being compared to the other. Now I know that some people are just made that way, "off." My eyes have always been offset, and as for my feet, well, let us just say that the left is an 8 1/2 while the right is a whopping 9. However, I do know that my arm has NOT always been "off."

I think it's due to the twisting Ms. Savant has been doing with the original post in order to get me to do due doo a part teux (truthfully, she didn't do much twisting at all, like an Earth Girl, I'm just easy like that).

In all actuality, the funnest part about this post were the comments yous guys (tee hee) left in return. It warmed the cockles of my mismatched feet seeing how our tastes ebbed n flowed. Please, feel free to add your own here (it serves as an inspiration to me and the rest of the movie nutters). Last day, Jillian even made one of her own! I was tickled green (not pink, because green is my favorite color and if you have to be tickled a color it should be your favorite color (grass green) don't you think?)!

So without further ado do due doo

Best come on line: "Is that a sausage in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Said by Lili von Shttup to Sheriff Bart right before the lights go out. Blazing Saddles. Oh my. Can we say baked beans? Did you know that Richard Pryor co wrote the screen play?

First Male Frontal: Richard Gere in American Giggalo. His was the first naked man butt I saw. He was hot. Very hot. Terribly hot.

OH MY GOD THAT COULD REALLY HAPPEN: "When a Stranger Calls," the original. I say the original because I refused to watch the remake. The first one scared me so freaking bad that I absolutely refused to have a second phone line with a different phone number installed in any place I live. Ever.

Best B Movie: Can there be such a thing? Yes, there can. "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes." Okay, does that tell you something about my teenage past? If you have discovered something new about me without me having to tell you, then, well, you must have done it too!

Worse Actor But Best One TOO: John Wayne. Seriously, he wasn't that great of an actor, at first, but he aged like wine (he and Kate Hepburn) had chemistry in Rooster Coburn. I LOVE John Wayne. Seen almost every movie he has made. He's so...very.

Movie I will always remember: "Stage Door." I'm not sure if many of you have seen this one. It was Katherine Hepburn's debut, and it also starred a bevy of other beauties as well such as Olivia Hallivand and Ginger Rogers, amongst others. I am an "old" movie buff.

Best Pirate Movie: Sorry guys, "Pirates of the Caribbean," although I love Johnny Depp, has nothing on Errol Flynn's "Captain Blood," or Tyronne Power's "The Black Swan." Them there boys be swashbucklers for certain.

Best Movie Soundtrack: "Moulin Rouge." Both soundtracks released were terrific. I was disappointed when some of the really good songs were left out, but our first copy was played so often that it is no longer...er...playable.

Movie that launched a thousand abs: "300." This movie boosted Gerard Butler's career more so than a five pound bar of Godiva chocolate. Seriously! I saw him in "Phantom of the Opera," but didn't realize his potential until I saw "300."

Sexiest Voice in a Movie: Vin Disel in "The Chronicles of Riddick." There is a line he says (very corny, I know) where he comes up behind a beautiful woman, inhales deeply and says "It's been a long time since I've smelled beautiful." Oh. My. Swooness. His voice is so incredibly sexy.

Movie Quote No One Gets: "And don't call me shirley," from "Airplane."

Best Overtaken by Madness Scene: When Jack Torrance and his axe are breaking their way through a splintering white door...he pops his head in and announces, "Here's Johnny!" Yes, The Shining, the original version if you please.

Okay, it's your turn. Get your (my) creative juices flowing!

Vampire Bill Says, "Sookie."

2009-07-04T00:25:00.000-07:00

Since before the days of Bella Lugosi, Vampires have been starring in the dreams of just about every young girl in existence. Infamous, sexy, haunting, and hidden, vampires have stayed in the closet of humanity for thousands of years...

until...

now.

Charlaine Harris has outed the closeted vampire, and thrown them into the night. Recent development of a synthetic blood used to replace the consumption of human blood, vampires across the nation have publicly come out of the coffin, and ever since, Miss Sookie Stackhouse of Bon Temps, Louisiana has been "dying" to meet one.

In "Dead Until Dark," the first of the southern vampire mystery series written by Charlaine Harris, we find young, beautiful, blonde, but frustratingly single, Sookie Stackhoue. Why single? It appears Miss Stackhouse has a "secret" ability that allows her to hear the thoughts of those around her, and while some might consider this a gift, it makes dating near to impossible. Imagine knowing exactly what your main squeeze was thinking 24/7 including when you're both in the middle of doing the nevermind. Er, yeah, right.

Life for Miss Sookie was as boring and lonely as it could get until one dark mysterious (setting up the ambiance for you) night, when the doors to Merlotte's, a local feed and watering hole where Sookie waitresses, opens and in walks Bill. Vampire Bill. Tall, pale, handsome...the silent kind. Vampire Bill, you had me at hello, and you didn't even say hello. Mr. Bill Compten, a former confederate soldier, has come home to Bon Temps as sole (un)living inheritor of his estate. Aside from his dashing good looks, pearly white teeth, and bodacious sideburns, Miss Sookie's main attraction to Mr. Bill is his brain (snort...yeah...right). It seems that she cannot read his thoughts. Delighted at the silence, Sookie is drawn and captivated by the charming vampire, so it is no surprise when later that night Sookie risks her life to save him from certain death. Bill is later able to return the favor and thus begins the whirlwind of an affair that leads Sookie through a maze of vampire bars, exotic Vikings, Elvis, a stake supper, and a vampire hating serial killer that has Sookie's name written on the top of the "to kill" list.

The first man Sookie is able to love is also the man that leads her into danger after danger after danger.

Ms. Harris has written a book that allows the reader to sit back, sip on wine or chug a beer, and enjoy a book that is simply a book. No straining your brain trying to figure out hidden agendas and the sub plot of a sub plot's sub plot. Just pure book lovin simplicity at its finest.

A word of warning, the Sookie books aren't for the prude at heart. Juss sayin...Vampire bill has had over 100 years to perfect his...er...innings and outtings.

Enjoy! For what it's worth, I did.

Bill Compton says, "Sookay."

Over and out.

What do you think?

2009-07-03T10:57:00.000-07:00

About Sean Connery...which is the most handsome, Young Sean or Older Sean? I'd have to say the older Sean still has the ability to make my knees vibrate, shimmy, and shake. What was dear Guinevere thinking when she chose Richard Gere over dear Sean.

About Yo Gabba Gabba...low budget train wreck or sneaky way to teach children manners without having to paint their bottoms red.

About teen angst...enough is enough already, don't you think?

About today's news...how much Micheal coverage does the world need? No offense meant, I was saddened by his passing, but he is gone.

About the sudden down play of Korea's arm race...knowing what color outfit Micheal will be buried in has become more important than knowing which country Korea is going to blow up.

About teaching the daughter to cook...should it be something they learn on their own, or do you drag them into the kitchen kicking and screaming.

About saving for college...I ain't got nothing to say about this. Well, I do, actually, its hard to save when you're in the process of providing for a family. The best we can offer is our help along the way, but if the daughter is going to college, it will be a combined effort from the both of us.

About the price of rice in China...everyone talks about it, but no one really knows how much they are charging.

About saving people across the world...our people in our backyards need saving...there are homeless everywhere...orphans living in the streets.

About waste...your own. Last night was fend for yourself night. It's the food night where left overs that aren't growing things get eaten.

About recycling...even in these days and times, the parish that I live in does not have a community recycling program. Yes, you can collect cans and other various aluminium's and turn them in for cash...but what about the plastics, glass, yada so on and forth.

About teen sex...you teach them what they need to know and pray they make the right decision even if its not the decision you want them to make. Remember the decision we made? Hopefully, in my case, she'll have better judgement.

About savings...If you spend your entire life saving and not enjoying some of the moments you've had while earning then when you look back, life is all gray and sweaty.

About the refrigerator light...how many times did you quickly open and shut the door before you figured out there was a switch that made the light go on and off.

About ghosts...Even in my forties, I find myself making the mad dash for the bathroom light, and only letting my arm into the room until the saving grace of the light bulb has chased the boogies away.

Pleased Ta Meet Cha

2009-07-01T20:21:00.000-07:00

Beth Fish Reads is starting the Sookie Stackhouse reading challenge (I know Jillian will be interested for sure). For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of meeting Eric...er...Sookie Stackhouse, she is the heroine of southern writer, Charlaine Harris's southern vampire series. The books with bite. Miss. Stackhouse was your everyday telepathic barmaid living in backwoods Louisiana when she meets her very first vampire. And while Bill the Vampire is your typical blood sucker, his social situation is anything but typical. Starting in July 4th, I plan on (trying my best) reviewing the Sookie books, and while I know the most of you tend to read a different line of books, Ms. Harris's books are light, fun, and easy to read. No vampire gore, but really hot, hot, vampire bites. This is my first attempt at a book review; wish me luck!

If you're already a Sookie fan, and would like to participate, you can link up and join Beth's challenge.

The Rules:

1. Between July 1, 2009, and June 30, 2010, catch up on Charlaine Harris's Southern Vampire series. No matter if you're starting with book 1 or book 8, you have a year to read all about Sookie. Read Sookie in print, listen to the audio, read an eBook -- format is not an issue.

2. Sign up using Mr. Linky. Put your name in the top box. For the bottom box, please use the URL that links specifically to your blog post about this challenge, not to your blog's home page.

3. After July 4, I'll create a post with another Mr. Linky where you can link your reviews so everyone can read them track your progress.

4. If you don't have a blog and want to join in, sign up in the comments here. Later, let us know about your progress by leaving comments on the review link page on Beth's blog.

The Books:

Dead Until Dark
Living Dead in Dallas
Club Dead
Dead to the World
Dead as a Doornail
Definitely Dead
All Together Dead
From Dead to Worse
Dead and Gone

And the Winner Is...

2009-06-30T20:24:00.000-07:00

Best death scene EVER: Pee Wee Herman (paging Mr. Herman...Mr. P. W. Herman...I can't remember his real name) wins the best death scene ever when he is staked through the heart by Buffy in his pivotal role as the right hand man to the main biter in "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." Classic death scene...

Best Farewell Scene: The Princess Bride's Billy Crystal and Carol Kane frantically wave goodbye to the Dread Pirate Roberts and his cohorts. "Goodbye, goodbye! Have fun stormin the castle, boys."

Best Revenge Scene: The Princess Bride's Inigo Montoya: "My name is Inigo Montoya. You have killed my father. Prepare to die."

Top Tear Jerker: I Am Sam. If you can watch this movie and keep a dry eye then I hear by dub you heartless.

Unbelievable Ending: Pan's Labyrinth. SPOILER!!! There is no way I'm going to believe that she was actually...well...you know...instead of what I really want to believe which is she went to live...you know.

Best "I Didn't See That One Coming" Scene: The Butterfly Effect, but not the "politically correct" ending, the original ending where he goes back to the time of his birth and ends it once and for all. Oooo...I SO did not see that one coming.

Saddest Romance: Somewhere in Time. Oh, I wept...I sobbed. I couldn't watch this movie again because it so totally broke my heart.

Best Hand Holding Scene: Yes, I'm sure you've already guessed; Jack and Rose on the Titanic when he is teaching her how to "fly."

Movie Most Quoted in Chat Room Conversations: Monty Python's HOLY GRAIL. "I fart in your general direction."

Humor me, now, and tell me what's in your wallet...er...what's your best scene. I'm sure I have tons of others, but for some reason my fried brain doesn't remember them at all at all.

Let's Go To The Movies

2009-06-29T07:09:00.000-07:00

Actually, with the fast growing pace directors are taking with the cranking out of books into movies, I am probably the last person you want to be taking to the movies. Book movies annoy the hell out of me. They truly do.

It all goes back to one of the first movies I ever watched in the theater, "The Black Stallion." Fortunately, I went in opposite directions and saw the movie before I actually read the book. The movie was fantastic. Heat, sand, beaches, islands, lagoons, and of course, The Black, met every expectation a true horse lover could have. I was riveted. And when Alex Ramsey rode The Black, injury and all, down the final stretch, I was in my seat, grabbing the reins, and riding down that stretch with him. Only sheer will power kept me from leaping from my seats as The Black made one last tremendous leap that carried him over the finish line. And as fast as a leapin lizard, I carried myself to the local library and checked out "The Black Stallion" (yes, I know books should be underlined, but I haven't yet mastered the talent of underlining in blog posts...rest easy...I am working on it). Needless to say, the movie which had won over my heart in the opening credits, now paled in comparison.

Flash Forward a few decades.

Like the chicken and the egg, I can't remember which came first: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, or Lord of the Rings. And yes, I know I can do a quick search and find the dates, but I'm lazy, and am writing this late in the morning as opposed to early in the morning. My time is limited. I first read Mr. Potter's story in 1999, so when the movie soared to the big screen, I scooped up my children, bought popcorn and snickers (best combination in the WORLD), and lined up with the crowds. Movie crowds don't bother me, it's part of the ambiance that theater going is supposed to have. I once watched Batman (part one) while sitting on the stairs of the movie aisle. Anyway, I digress. The movie, while filled with sparklies, troll snot, and unlimited boogeys, fell short of the thrill behind the book, however, I did enjoy it. It could have been due to the length of time between the reading and the viewing, but I did enjoy it. HOWEVER, parts 2, 3, 4, and 5 cannot share the same fate. While the effects, and Richard Harris's excellent rendition of Dumbledore, were pleasing to the viewer's eye, the book purist in me demanded accuracy! Persephone actually moved to a different seat for The Prisoner of Azkaban after enduring only thirty minutes of elbowing, underbreath muttering, and exclamations of "Hey, that wasn't in the book!" Unfortunately, I am addicted, and the July release of Mr. Potter's sixth year will have me lined up in the theater, towing my unwilling victims...er..daughters with me.

Let's get this straight. For some reason Hollywood cannot do fantasy right. They've had a few accidents such as The Labyrinth (sheer brilliance), The goonies (applause), and Excalibur (a moment of silence). Okay, perhaps a few more, but I am talking about REAL fantasy...you know...like dungeons and dragons (and the nerd in me rears its ugly head again...back nellie, back!). Hollywood (sorry Jeremy Irons) has not been able to do a decent dungeons and dragons type movie ever. And while I am in NO WAY comparing dungeons and dragons to Lord of the Rings (blasphamy), I had my doubts and misconceptions when I discovered LotR was coming to the big screen. Did I let those doubts get in the way? NO FREAKIN WAY! I was giddier than a school girl sitting next to her first high school crush on the school bus...all trembly and shaky inside. How could I could seriously maintain my "school teacher persona in the public eye" control? Oh My Lanta! It was amazingly wonderful. Beautiful. Lovely. Aragorn (actually, I'm more of a Strider kinda girl than Aragorn, if you know what I mean). It was truly outstanding. Immediately after wards, being that I hadn't read the books since high school, I re read the series. And with a little bit of this, and a little bit of that, I grudgingly admitted that Hollywood had done a perty good job with their first attempt. Oh, and when the extended version came out on DVD...shudder...shake...drool...quake. Someone once said that the theater releases of the Lord of the Rings trilogy was just a trailer for the DVD extended versions. Oh, yes, they were right. While being a bit disappointed with Merry and Pippin's luncheon with the tree ents, along with a few other exclusions (adaptations), Peter Jackson did a helluva job. I envy those who watched the movies with absolutely no knowledge of the book for they definitely were treated to a fantastic movie.

Did Lord of the Rings cure me? Hell no. Just last year I took my daughters to see Twilight. And yes, my daughter would nudge and pinch when I began my mutterings...she wasn't in his room, she was in the car...oh..that didn't happen. Did that happen in the book? I don't remember that part. But I was pleasantly pleased. They did a good job. Personally, I think Bella kinda overdid the teenage angst head nudge awkwardness a bit, but overall, not a bad film rendition. HOWEVER, I did happen to see the trailer for "New Moon," and already I am chomping at the bit. Jacob did NOT phase in front of Bella when Laurent tried to kill her. Enough said! Well, not really. I do plan on seeing this one when it is released as well!

I'm a glutton for punishment. What can I say?

Today

2009-06-25T12:19:00.000-07:00

Last week I made a momentous decision to visit the physician. Unfortunately, it wasn't Leonard McCoy (yes, I know, deForest Kelly is dead...he's dead, Jim), instead it was Fadi Abou Issa. He's wonderful. He's extraordinary. He's popular so I ended up seeing his practitioner instead, who was not so shabby, I might add.

Blood pressure: check

Weight: WTF?!?!? (ignore)

Pulse: a little high

By the end of the visit, she tacked on a list of things to do: blood work, x-ray of lungs, MRI of the brain, this, that, and those.

Today was the day of my MRI. Have you ever experienced one of those? I had a very long time ago, but apparently I had forgotten what it was all about. Of all the cotton pickin things I've had to endure throughout my life, this had to be the most unpleasant. They ... made ... me ... take ...

Pregnant Pause

...

...

...

off my bra. Ladies, and the occasional gent, I am not Alex Gobraless. God didn't gift me with a huge set of maracas so that I can waltz into the MRI area and whip that sucker off so that them suckers could spring out. Nope. He suuuuurrrrreeee didn't. The MRI tech asked,

"Ma'am, you're going to have to remove your bra."

"Oh."

"You're not wearing a sports bra, are you?"

(looks down)

(giggles...laughs...snorts)

"Nope, not me."

Braless, I give new meaning to the words...ba dong ga dong (or whatever...I don't listen to country but the kids have sung it to me before).

So we stroll down the hall to the MRI machine. Let me say now, I'm so glad I'm not afeared of small spaces. That sure was small, paw paw. Well, I get into position.

"Ma'am? You'll need these ear plugs, it gets really loud in there."

"Thanks."

"Shove them in good. It's really loud in there."

"Okay." ::shove...shove::

Then I'm instructed to lie down on the small, extremely narrow (my butt was just about to do unbuttly things), MRI table thing. I place my head into this cup looking device, and then he places two cylindrical things over my ears.

Because it's really loud in there.

My arms are crossed over my belly, and as I'm sliding in he hands me a rubber ball.

"This is the panic button, ma'am. Squeeze it if you panic. I'll come running."

Huh? Panic? What?

"The test will take 20 minutes. Be really still because if you move, we'll have to do it again."

It. was. really. really. REALLY. . .

Loud.

As a matter of fact I felt like I was screening the music for "Flash Gordon: The Movie. Remember that one? Sung by Queen? He saved every one of us... Well...that is what it sounded like. Not only that. It would give me a series of little electric shocks beginning with my head, then shoulders, elbows, and leaving through my fingers. I almost hit the panic button because I was sure that my MRI machine was defective. It wasn't. I didn't panic, either.

Anyway, twenty minutes later, and after composing hundreds of posts, singing the lyrics to Flash Gordon, and taking small shallow breaths in order to keep my badonga dongs from moving too much (no way was I going to sit through another one of those suckers), my MRI was complete. A lovely new tech escorted me to the bra room where I reigned those suckers in, and I was on my merry way.

Test results pending.

I hope this was all for nothing.

The end.

Of Monkeys and Trees

2009-06-25T07:53:00.000-07:00

A tale of a tail of a monkey and her tree. Have a sit down and enjoy what you see!

Monkey girl decided to climb up the tree.

No matter how much sissy pleaded, she refused to leave.

She was stayin, this was her tree.

So we called on the big guns.

Look where that got us.

She's still in that there tree.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

The Mything Link

2009-06-22T11:14:00.000-07:00

While being a youngling, my nose was often found buried deeply between the covers of a book. Most of those books written by Piers Anthony; I was a Science Fantasy nut (and yes, I say Science Fantasy...I'm old school like that). One series I read, which was a favorite re read for me, was The Incarnations of Immortality. An awesome blend of both sci fi and fantasy...truly delightful (I thought I'd add that phrase to make me sound more...mature). Anyway, in one of Piers's novels he stated that long ago dragons were good natured. They ate over-populated herds of wildlife, and lived peaceful existences...no peasants involved. However, their peaceful habitation was soon threatened by knights seeking stature and glory and a lay in the hay which in turned caused dragons to be hunted to near extinction. According to Mr. Anthony, hells denizens offered to hide the dragons in the pits of...er...hell. It was, in all truth physically perfect for the dragons...however...after living hundreds of years in hell, a bit of evil permeated their reptilian coated bodies thus "turning" them evil. So tell me, if you can, where have all the dragons gone?

(Long time passing)

Great beasts of legend can seemingly be traced to authentic scientific explanation. Seasons, sun rise, sun set, drought, famine, disease, and pestilence all laid bare on the table of reason and sanity. Still the stories of myth were based on truth of a sort, were they not? So, where is the link?

Mything Link Number One

Dragons. Hmm. Dinosaurs? Maybe, maybe not. Although dinosaurs were huge, with terrible claws and gnashing teeth, according to science, they did not coexist with us homosaps at all. Good thing too, I think we'd have become homo prey instead of homo erectus. Someone somewhere over that rainbow saw that there be dragons and that them there dragons would swoop from the heavens, grab a cow (figuratively or literally, you decide), and be off. They would unhinge their jaws and flame fields, crops, and houses with chronic halitosis. According to legend, there ain't nothin like the smell of a sulfur laden dragon. So, where is the link? Hmm? Volcanic eruptions? Molten rivers of lava? Ash obscured visions of slippery shadows from the sky?

Mything Link Number Two

Fairies. An excerpt from Wikipedia.com: A fairy (also fay, fey, faery, faerie; collectively, "fae", wee folk, good folk, people of peace, fair folk, and other euphemisms)[1] is a type of mythological being or legendary creature, a form of spirit, often described as metaphysical, supernatural or preternatural If you've never spent the time reading up on the myth behind the fairy, take a moment or two. It's fascinating. Really, it is. There are so many types, makes, meanings, where they came from, and how they got there of fairies. Contrary to popular belief, most fairies don't have wings. Apparently wings are a thing of rarity. Whoda thunk, huh? One myth has fairies actually coming to life as a demoted angel. Some fairies are good, some are not so good, but when push comes to shove, where did they get their beginnings? Is there, like the myths that have come to science, some scientific explanation behind the story? Where's the link little fairy bug, where is the link? By the way, another contrary to popular belief, most fairies aren't tiny or small, but gloriously tall and wonderfully built. Makes you wonder.

Mything Link Number Three

Elves. Heart stopping, beautiful, drop dead gorgeous...yes...all of those came to mind when Legolas peered out from behind his elven bow wearing his elven tights and doing his elven booty shake. Seriously, there was a collective intake of breath the moment his pointy eared head emerged onto the screen. Although the first elf didn't make an appearance in Science Fantasy until the 20th century, they have been here for eons. Legends have them as beautiful and golden as the handsome Legolas, bringing good deeds forth like manna from heaven, and as dark and brooding as the dark man himself, glorifying in deeds as dark as themselves. Most elves are human like, with their extreme beauty being the main distinction. Their existence can be traced as far back as...well...a really long time ago. Where did they come from? What's their mything link? Where did they go?

Where have they gone? How did they get here in the first place? Where did they come from? Real or memorex?

What is your mything link?

Happy Summer Solstice

2009-06-21T11:58:00.000-07:00

Ye heathens! Celebrate...dance naked under the moonlight...running barefood across the sand...sleeping under the trees...harvesting a nice summer tan...reading your tea leaves and licking off the honey...

Random Post Redux 2, or Would A Rose Smell The Same?

2009-06-20T08:59:00.000-07:00

Kel, over at A Hesitant Housewife hosts "Random Post Redux", where each Saturday, post a "previously used post." Here's mine. You can also head over to Kels and link up yours with her Mr. Linky, and read other previous posts by her, and others who play as well. Enjoy

This is one taken from my first month of blogging. Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy!

Would a Rose Smell the Same?

"A rose by any other name would smell the same," frustratingly claims William Shakespeare's Juliet. But would it? If a rose would be named "swamp gas mustard pod," would a person willingly stick his nose into its gaseous petals? Not without conjuring the image of what something named swamp gas mustard pod would smell like. Would Alexander the Great of Macedonia! sound as powerful if he were Ralph the Great of Puxico? Great God in the Heavens Above, if that is so, then my babies are all in a world of trouble.

Persephone, pronounced "per sef oh knee," was the first of my attempts at naming a newly arrived soul to this place called Earth (think about it...what if Earth were really called Dirt or Mud then we'd live in either the Dirt or the Mud). Now you tell me, was her life influenced by her name? She's a middle aged teenager in high school, in the gifted drama and art program, sings, doesn't dance (thank God), writes, and spends her time anguishing over the fact that she wants to be a vegetarian but despises just about every vegetable except potatoes, beans, and lettuce. Moaning about the fate of the whales and desperately wanting world peace are two of her favorite pastimes. She wants to be an actress on Broadway or a painter in the streets of the French Quarter when she grows up. Persephone is a wonderful child. It would be impossible for me not to love the person she is becoming. However, does the fact that she also shares the name with the dramatic wife of the infamous Hades, ruler of the underworld, could have influenced the events of her life? Can a name be so powerful?

Caylith, pronounced cay lith, was my second attempt at the name game. She was going to be named Mercedes so that I could call her Sadie so that she could grow up and be spunky and cheerful and a member of the cheer squad. She was having none of that. No, she was definitely not a Mercedes...or even a Sadie. She was Caylith, queen dragon! And let me tell you, Miss Caylith was definitely the ruler of all. By the time she could speak, she had the world wrapped around her finger. Everyone was hers to command, even strange children in the park. Caylith is in her mid teens now, and I have to say that she grows to be more like a dragon everyday (except for eating her meat raw). She's independent, outspoken, fearless, among many other traits. As is her sister, Caylith is also in the gifted drama class. Her ambitions include becoming a director (as if she could take directions from anyone else), starring in her own movies, and marrying Orlando Bloom, Johnny Deep, and Jack Black. Polygamy anyone? So once again I ask, could the name have touched upon the sequence of events that have become her life? Hrmmm...

Years later I once again find myself doing the name game again. I have had three more lovely children. Abigail, who was almost named Antigony, Atticus, who was suppose to have been born before Abigail but decided to come a year after instead, and Avery, who was almost named Vorenus (he is probably thanking the name gods day and night for that name change). While life is just beginning, I can see them growing into their names. Will Abigail become wise, ever knowing? Will Atticus become the strong capable father and lawyer? And will Avery become the debonair lady killer...soft spoken, well groomed, polite?

Who knows...after all a name by any other name would be just the same!

Rebels on the Uprising

2009-06-18T07:29:00.000-07:00

The other day my enchanting husband turned to me and asked, "So, what do you think about this whole healthcare reform thing?"

What do I think?

I'm not quite sure, especially since the proverbial ball is still rolling so to speak. As far as healthcare goes, I've been a player in just about all spectrums.

Growing up dirt poor didn't offer the option of health insurance. My father was a shrimper, or a trawler. During the late spring and into early fall, he'd dip his nets into the nearby lakes and bayous of Louisiana to catch shrimp, and while the "in-seasons" were usually giving and bountiful, any extra cash had to be saved for the winter season where shrimping took place off shore, and wasn't quite as bountiful. The larger boats were able to go off shore and fish for weeks at a time, however, my father's small, double-rigger, was only able to go out for a week at a time, and definitely not in the deeper waters of the Gulf of Mexico. My mother would work on the boat with my dad in order to keep from having to hire a deckhand, and my older sister would "keep" house while they were away. I don't remember much of that, but I do know that no matter how strained the finances were, my mom made sure we were kept healthy and up to date on our shots. No health insurance, though, none at all. And we grew up without health insurance. Having five children of my own, I have no clue as to how she did it, but did it, she did.

Flash forward to my first years of parenthood. I call these the first years of parenthood. Being a single mom isn't all it's cracked up to be. Especially if you squandered away your high school education, graduated by the skin of your teeth, and refused to go to college. I became a single parent, a welfare recipient, and medicaid card holder at the age of twenty-two. Trust me, welfare will not make you rich, not at $172.00 a month, however, the medicaid card was priceless. The card...the keep your babes healthy...the safety net I held precious and dear to me. It wasn't all peaches and cream, however. Government sponsored health programs meant not being able to get an appointment on the same day you call the doctor, if your child started running high temperatures, the emergency room was your closest option. It also meant waiting three or more hours to see the doctor, who was actually a med student, however, this was a plus, because no one is more thorough than a med student. Still, I considered myself fortunate that I had this safety net as I struggled to better my life in order to better theirs. And of course, I did, but that is another story.

I am now a married, working (although I took this year off), mom. I also provide health insurance for my entire family at a cool three hundred dollars a month. Real bonafide health insurance. What does this mean? Alot, for me. It meant that ten years ago when I became ill, not only did I receive treatment immediately, I was able to go to a specialized facility. My children are able to see the doctor on the day they become ill, and I don't have to wait until after hour emergency room visits for an ear infection. However, there is a down side as well. If you were able to read up on Ms. Savant's story, her healthcare provider denied her request for treatment at a specialized clinic. My cousin was denied her request for a stem-cell transplant because it was her second one. And I'm sure there are many a scare story out there from you all as well.

I'm not done yet. Bear with me.

Now my oldest daughter is nearing the end of her childhood. She will be 18, soon, and a senior in high school, and soon, very soon, uninsured. As a mother, I want her covered. COVERED! Will this healthcare reform benefit her? Will it hurt me? Will it do what it's suppose to do? What will it do?

I couldn't answer my husband's question. I'm not sure what I think of healthcare reform. Think about it, history shows that anytime the word "reform" (reformation) rears up, somebody out there looses his head.

I still don't know what I think.

What do you think?

Housewife Savant or Shart Your Shorts

2009-06-17T11:38:00.001-07:00

Ms. Savant is a favorite of mine that I've been following for quite a while now (at least a day or two). Her words are wholesome, wise, wordy, and whinning...er...winning. I began following her oh so long ago for inspiration. She was a jogger, a lifter, a real body builder that is until she wrote this little snippet...an ode to foods that I shudder to think of crossing my palate (and tremble with joy...pure unadultered joy). So why dedicate an entire day to her? Why indeed!

Ms. Savant battles Meniere's Disease, something I have never heard of until I crossed paths with her. It totally rocks her world, literally, too. Although I have done a bit of research, and she's explained it in bits and pieces...actually..LOTS of bits and pieces, you can read about it here when you have the chance. Still why an entire day just to her?

Mimi at Living in France has created a special day, today, "Shart for Solidarity." Why she chose to shart instead of barf, which is what Meniere's makes Savant do, remains Mimi's secret, but shart it is. She created a wonderful button to celebrate this day, and to show our support with our sharts to Ms. Savant. So, shart off! Shart on! But please be kind and wash them there shorts that contains the sharts.

Here's to you, to wong foo. May your sharts spare your shorts.

Hats off, Ms. Savant.

Go Read This

2009-06-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

Kaye's blog, "The Road Goes Ever Ever On," is a blog I decided to follow a few months or so ago. I can't remember where or how I found her, I can only remember thinking that anyone having a header dedicated to world famous hobbits can't be all that bad, as a matter of fact, they must be amazingly witty, wise, and winsome. I've enjoyed following her. But today...well...probably posted yesterday, but I read it today, she took the cake.

Go there now. Read this post. It will get to you too.

Doctor, Doctor

2009-06-15T07:28:00.000-07:00

Brutal confession.

I hate doctors. Not really them, just going to visit them. I hate the whole entire process. Walking into the office, signing in, waiting (gods, the waiting), having the nurse give you the run down, looking at the scale, getting on the scale, looking at the scale again, and then waiting for the doctor, again, but this time in a room small enough to house towels and a dishpan.

I have to go to the doctor. I need to pick up the phone and call him. I'm sick. Very sick. I've been sick since Friday when I walked into the kitchen to fix Avery's oatmeal and semi passed out. I say semi because I think I was awake the entire time. It was the first time in my life that I actually saw the room spin...and really spin. Like I was holding my head trying to keep the room from spinning. And although I'm not feeling as horrible as I felt on Friday, I think this episode merits a visit to the doctor.

I don't want to go. I want to sit here and pretend that the headache I've been having for the last three days isn't sitting in the background living on the edge (threw that phrase in there for you, Tammy). I want to sit here and pretend that the absence of that little pain in the center of my chest, the one that's been there for a bout a week or so, won't be popping up later on in the day. I think that one is due to stress (good answer, huh?). Yesterday, my entire body felt weird...like it was tired all over. I remember feeling that way ten years ago.

I'm kind of scared.

I'm really scared.

It's probably nothing.

I'll go. I'll go. Jeez.

Random Post Redux: They Call That Average?

2009-06-13T22:53:00.000-07:00

Kel, over at A Hesitant Housewife hosts "Random Post Redux", where each Saturday, post a "previously used post." Here's mine. You can also head over to Kels and link up yours with her Mr. Linky, and read other previous posts by her, and others who play as well. Enjoy!

Original Post done March 18:

They Call That Average?

Annoyed would be the current description of my mood at the moment. Well, not annoyed, aggravated. No, no...not aggravated, irritated. Frustrated, maybe? No. That doesn't work either, asphyxiated?

There is a rumor going on that men think about sex, want to have sex, when ever possible actually have sex, and have nothing but sex on the brain twenty-four hours a day...twenty-five if you throw in a couple of leap years. This rumor also states that MEN want SEX more than WOMEN do. Furthermore, once you enter your mid thirties and so forth, your desire for sex decreases to only wanting it once or twice a month.

According to very outdated research:

13% of married couples reported having sex a few times per year, 45% reported a few times per month, 34% reported 2-3 times per week, and 7% reported 4 or more times per week (Laumann, Gagnon, Michael, Michaels, 1994).

AND

A survey by Durex, a leading research firm, found the frequency of sexual interaction varies significantly from country to country. The global average for frequency of sex is 109 times per year (2.1 times per week, or once every 3.3 days). The following summary shows how individual nations compare to the national average of frequency of sexual interaction per year.

Frequency By Country
United States 135
Russia 133
France 128
Germany 127
Britain 124

People from Thailand had the lowest average sexual frequency at 64 times per year, half the frequency of Americans.

Source: 1997 Durex Global Sex Survey

WTF? (I love that acronym)

I am a woman. Yes, for real. I'm a woman that likes sex, thinks about sex often, and wants to have sex okay, not daily, but maybe every other day.
I think about sex. Quite often, I might add. I think about the good sex I've had. I think about the good sex I want to have in the future. I think about the sex I've never had and wonder if it's as good as people say. (warning, there are going to be lots of "I's" in this particular passage because I'm feeling a bit self-centered today) I like sex. I like sex on a daily basis. Personally, me, myself, and I, do not fall in the average category. However, I do not fly solo, much, so my marriage does fall in that 45% range of "a few times a month." By the way, how much is a few?

Why?

Well, the usual suspects are at play here. Kids...yes...those adorable sticky, smelly, salt-nose encrusted specimens produced by my marriage. I have five of them, remember?( http://orbitingthegianthairball.blogspot.com/2009/02/would-rose-smell-same.html) There ain't nothing better than being in the middle of doing the nevermind and having a teenager run in, yes, without knocking, and ask if they can borrow money or your shoes. MY SHOES??? For crying out loud! Not to mention the fact that the lock on your door is broken and your two and three year olds take great pleasure in storming in just to see how fast and wide they can open the door. Don't forget about the nine month old that just LOVES to take power naps of five minutes or less and has the uncanny ability to know "just" when to wake up. HA. Now go ahead and include how unimaginably tiring it is to run after three, three and under, children all day, do minimal household chores, cook supper, run after two teens, and blog (had to include that huh?). Wow, I just wore myself out reading all of that. Then there is the male counterpart. You know, the one that is supposta be thinking about sex 24 hours a day? Well, he wakes up at five a.m., heads off to do manly work things all day, gets home at six, does the SSaS routine (figure that acronym out ha!), and is in bed for nine. In his defense, his job is physically demanding. It does get hot here...very hot and humid. It can drain a person physically...yes...it does. So anyway, I understand when he says, "Not tonight honey... I'm just too...snore...

In defense of my amazing husband:

I love my husband. And he's absolutely incredible and just where incredible should be! He is, without a doubt, the most giving of bedmates! I haven't a complaint. (But I didn't win the give-a-way sponsored by http://www.youwontgoblind.com/! No, I didn't so he just needs to wake his snoring behind up and take care of the situation at hand right now and no one can see this part because it is in ( ) and that makes it completely invisible).

Anyway. :regains self-composure: My point, if there is one, is that women like sex and think about sex just like men do. We do become disappointed when it only happens once a week. And we love those surprise in-the-middle-of-the-week romps! We don't fall into general "honey, I have a headache" stereotypes.

So, back to my current mood...

I don't

(pregnant pause)

have a headache.

2009-06-12T06:36:00.000-07:00

There is nothing more fun than playing tag, and Ms. Pam, over at Pam's Perspective, has tagged me. However, this is a new tag thingy, one I haven't played yet. The rules are as follows:

~Open your first photo folder
~Scroll down to the 10th photo
~Post that photo and story on your blog
~Tag five friends to do the same.

I think I'm going to do a better job of arranging my photo folders, I don't even think this shot has been edited.

This is my second born daughter, Caylith, and my second born son, Avery. It was Avery's first Christmas, and Caylith's sixteenth. The gap in their ages spans nearly two decades, however, the love they have for each other narrows that gap to nearly nothing. While Caylith is brash, opinionated, headstrong, and stubborn, she can clearly take and command center stage. And though she can be completely exasperating, she can also light up a room. The comic relief she provides for the rest of us is developing at a quick pace in her baby brother. His need to be the center of everyone's universe has exceeded the allowed baby boundaries, and the charm he exudes will often make one forget that in order to use his charm on you, he had to get you into the room with him, and in order to get you into the room with him, he used his lungs and howled high to heaven. Perhaps it is them both being second born children that makes them almost parallel in attitude,wit, and charm. Although Avery is still discovering who he is, I can see much of my older dragon child's personality peeking through.

Two dragons in one family.

God help us all.

Now for the tag~

Jillian over at The Infamous

Tink over at The Tink-n-Frog

Viv over at The V Spot

Brandy at You Don't Know

Persephone at This Tasty Jam is all Me

And one to grow on

La la at Music, Hugs, and Random Rants

Mimi at Living in France

Of course, I would have loved cheating and added Tammy and Anita, but Pam tagged them first. I also would have tagged Ms. Savant, but she's been tagged so many times, I do believe her backside has a permanent target pasted to it.

Anyway, whether they play or not, their blogs definately deserve to be checked out.

Enjoy!

A Little Bit of Me

2009-06-09T07:19:00.000-07:00

We grew up in a sort of extended type of family. Imagine a huge yard. Really big. Don't ask for measurements, because agriculture isn't my thing, I mean architecture. In the front part of the yard was my aunt's house and ours, the back consisted of a huge vacant area, my aunt's washing shed, a swamp on the side and a couple of trees (not too many), and my grandmother's house. On the side of her house was another vacant area and my uncle's house, and in front, or to the side of his was another of my aunt's (her yard was fenced in, though, so it almost didn't count as part of the extended family thing). Across the road from my aunt with the fenced in yard, was my uncle. He was a rebel living across the road from us all.

All of these people, aside from my uncle living on the side of my grandmother, had children ranging from 19 years to newborn (my mother was a virtual baby machine...she had eight children...EIGHT...can you imagine?). Of course the older ones tortured and stole from the younger ones (me and my sisters), and the much older ones ranging in the almost 18 + department would go over to Joe's Pool Room and shoot pool and smoke (you name it, they smoked it...come on...it was the early seventies for cryin out loud). I longed for the day where I would get to walk to Joe's and shoot pool. Alas, we moved to a different town before I even came close. I missed out on Joe's. Hrmphf. Good thing, I suppose (grumble, grumble, moan, b*tch, complain).

Sometimes, late at night, we'd go and sit on the swamp side of my grandmother's house and tell ghost stories about the rou-ga-rou (a swamp monster of sorts that was a mean ass individual...he didn't stick to his swamp which made him even scarier). My cousins swore up and down that "once, while playing hide-n-seek, they went to look behind a shivering bush thinking to find a player only to find the rou-ga-rou. Their quick wits and swift feet were the only things that saved them. And, of course, I believed every word. Every word uttered. We were even convinced that a hole, which use to house my grandmother's clothesline, was actually a tunnel to satan's den. I swear, I even saw a red light coming out of that hole. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to lie. There was nothing better than scaring the bejeebus out of ourselves, and then lying late at night with the blankets tucked tightly around our feet, and blinking like owls in the dark because we were too "afeared" to sleep.

Yes, those were the days...late nights...ghost stories...and playing tag.

Speaking of tag, Vivienne over at The V Spot, has tagged me. According to the rules of the game, I am to reveal six things about me. I'll play her little game, my pretty, and her little dog too...er...wrong story.

1. While I may not have the best table manners in the world (I will take an occasional book or two to the table with me...but only sometimes), I cannot abide smacking...you know...chewing with your mouth open. A smackface will drive me absolutely bananas. My dad is a smackface, but out of respect for him, I endure it silently (although sometimes it drives me nuts enough to make excuses to leave the room...he's deaf...and he smacks REALLY loud). My little sister was a smackface, though, and I would tell her often time: "Quit your smacking, Smackface."

2. I've only recently started shaving my legs again. I hadn't shaved in years due to the next day pickiness of my legs rubbing together would keep waking me up. The longer my hair grew, the less pickiness. Since I've had 3 babies in the last 4 years, I've had a good excuse not to shave, and trust me, I took that ball and ran with it. However, I decided to try shaving again. I have to shave nightly, though, because the hair on my legs grow way too fast, and I cannot abide the pickiness.

3. My first car was a 1971 Volkswagen Superbeetle. You can find all kinds of interesting facts about the Beetle here. I loved my beetle. love Love LOVED it! It was my first very own car. The seat in the back lifted up and you could hide things in it, and it was just freaking cool.

4. When I worked at Wendy's, the staff would eat the peaches and tomatoes and stuff while prepping the containers for the salad bar. I didn't, though, because I was too paranoid about getting caught. They also ate the fries.

5. I think I'm going deaf, and blind. Although I wear glasses to correct my nearsightedness, I have to hold things away from me in order to read, now. Now, I'm just waiting for dumb. It's coming, I'm telling you, and soon.

6. When I'm embarrassed, even if just slightly embarrassed, my face turns beet red. And I mean beet red. It's hard to control it, actually, near to impossible. Not only that, if I feel the heat going to my face, I blush even harder. I hate it. Sometimes I don't even have to be embarrassed to blush. Take the other day for instance. I was shopping, and as was leaving, I just happened to run into one of our school's former band teachers, Mr. Patterson. He is young, dynamic, vibrant, and the kids loved him (Okay, so he was cute, too). We were classroom neighbors during his time at our school, and would often stop to chat with us (the other fifth grade teachers) when passing by, so I went over and said hello. Not an embarrassing situation, not an excitable situation, but wouldn't you know, I began to blush. Alot. Which of course embarrassed me, so I blushed even MORE. Jeez. How embarrassing.

Okay, so there you have it. Six. Now, according to the game, I'm to tag six others. Deviating a bit, okay, more than a bit, I tag YOU, yes YOU. Have fun. Remember, people love reading about YOU more than YOU realize! We're all voyeurists of some type or another. Go for it!

Mrs. Jones and Me

2009-06-05T06:56:00.000-07:00

"The Diary of Bridget Jones" struck such a chord with me, that I'm amazed it didn't shatter my hurricane proof windows at the time of my viewing. Not only could I relate to her being in her thirties, overweight (yeah, right, I wasn't overweight, I was tothemoonweighted), and single, but I also would suffer through her episodes of painful embarrassment with just as much pain that she was enduring at that moment as well. Heart aches, heart breaks, over joyed, unemployed...you name it, she did it, and, many times, so did I.

Watching Bridget trip across her life was a bit like watching my own, and I'm thinking that was the case for others as well. My drink of choice wasn't vodka straight from the bottle, it was Cosmos (I was a Sex in the City fan as well, der). And yes, I smoked (long skinny menthol), danced, went out all night and came home late in the mornings, and dragged my not so willing butt to work the next day. My friends were as cool, if not cooler, than Bridget's, and yes, I even had a few gay ones as well. We were definitely cooler than everyone else. So, age and weight, (check), wild nights spent with variety of friends (check), painful embarassment...ah...yes.

Admit it, we all have these moments...painful embarrassment. I will be the first to admit that not only have I had moments of painful embarrassment, I have had MANY moments of painful embarrassment. To imbibe, and heavily imbibe in the consumption of alcoholic drinks seems to lend a helpful hand in creating quite a few of these moments. Oh, like the time there was orange juice, cranberry juice, vodka, and bar-b-qued sausage, all consumed at different stages of the evening, and all deciding to make an appearance later on that evening. Together. Holding hands, even. Not the best way to impress (Okay, so this wasn't when I was in my thirties...I was actually like 18, and trying my damnedest to impress what's his name now that I'm a couple of decades older....AND WISER that I now forget who he even was). But being young, clueless, and naive, I forgave myself this one small...teeny tiny...event. Of course, as you age, like wine in a barrel or cheese in a wedge, comes wisdom.

Yep, you learn how to read the signs that state if you have one more fruity cocktail, then you'll learn the true meaning behind "two for the price of one." It is at this point where I will thank the god(s) for sending my friends my way, and of course, vice versa. They saved my ass from many an embarrassing morning after. Oh, like the time in the parking lot...with a beautiful Frenchman...after a night of dancing...pulling me out of the club holding hands...Yes, I fell in love after knowing him for only 29 minutes (You would have as well if he whispering sweet french nothings in your "I haven't been a bad girl in waaaaay too long.") ear. Fortunately for me, Margie and Claudia came tripping along and pulled me away from the Frenchman. I still remember tenderly waving from the window of her car, the tires snick snicking away, while I waved to my Frenchman (who straightened his color and went back in to find another fool...er...victim...er...girl). Ah, friends. Good thing Bridget and I had the best of them, huh?

Fortunately, and after dating a couple of the same guys Bridget had dated (Meet Ben and Jerry), I began the process of settling. Found a job, a good job, one that paid the bills which in turn allowed me to make even more bills, WOO! Found a fella, a good fella (cue Van Morrison singing, "Someone Like You."), one that paid the bills which in turn allowed me to make even more bills. Got married (take that Bridget), and so on and so forth.

My embarrassing moments weren't all sloshed related...like when I sprained my hand trying to wave at someone through a closed window, or each time I wave at someone I don't think I know but maybe I do because I think they are waving at me but in truth they are waving at someone standing in back of me (admit it, you all have done that before). And fortunately, Bridget has gotten over Vodka and Chaka Chan, while I have gotten over Cosmos and Ben and Jerry (well, I still do occassionally visit with Ben and Jerry...they helped me over SOOOO many hurdles ta ha, and girdles). It is still nice to know that we have each other to cry with, aggrieve with, and laugh with.

Ah, Miss Jones.

There is Superstition

2009-06-01T05:44:00.000-07:00

Step on a crack and you'll break your momma's back.

You don't know how many cracks I've jumped over, yes, even now, because of that statement (you don't know how many I've stepped on either).

I am a superstitious woman. Beware walking in my kitchen with barefoot because you're likely to slip in the piles of salt lying scattered throughout. Who cares about gas prices, if that black cat crosses my path, I'm turning around. The bayou in the back of my mom's yard is filled with my broken mirrors; ain't no seven years of bad luck followin me around. And as for Lowe's, well, it's a ladder nightmare. I've even gone as far as creating a few of my own superstitions.

When I was just a young girl, there was an armadillo that had the misfortune of kissing the wheel. Alas, the wheel did not return his affections, and the wretched creature crawled off to die. His final resting place was a sidewalk I frequented on a daily basis. My walks would take me past his body in all of it's decaying glory. Each day he faded until at last a mighty wind (no, I didn't fart...ooo...I hate that word...fart), carried him away. That patch became "The Sacred Armadillo Spot." Never could human feet pass over this sacred armadillo spot. I had no idea what would happen to the feet that did pass over that spot because its sacredness was so awesome that no one dared attempt it. Certainly not me. I still don't walk over the sacred armadillo spot.

Never.

Ever.

Being superstitious, aside from not knowing how to spell the word, and it being a cool Stevie Wonder song, isn't as cracked up as it's made to be. It's annoying, actually. Your days are filled with nonsense ritual...tossing salt, walking back and forth under ladders, throwing mirrors into the bayou, kissing your husband goodbye once, or three times...but for goodness sakes, NEVER twice. Imagine the woe, the panic, the absolute FEAR that would strike if you missed doing something to avert evil. It's like those freaking chain letters you get in your email...ergh...send this out to 1,000 people or your dog will stop licking your toes in the middle of the night...what's that? We don't have a dog?

Damn, you freak.

Those things usta freak the everliving out of me. I'd be like...oh gods...if I don't fill this out and answer 128 questions asking weird things about me like if I like mountains or desert (like I've been to the desert...come on now) or if I like Sprite or Mountain Dew (dew the dew), then the love of my life will be eaten by a rabid monkey squirrel.

Well, can the squirrel at least wait til we get life insurance?

Craft Envy

2009-05-29T08:26:00.001-07:00

Remember how I said I can't craft worth a snow dogs leap over the desert? Well, I can't, but sometimes I dabble. This is a picture of the two cakes I made for my son's birthday. My husband decorated the orange one, and I took over the green. It was so much fun. I will attempt to make a caslte for Abs's birthday. Wish me luck.

The Back:

The Front:

Ta Da!

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

It's a Little Bit Funny

2009-05-28T07:54:00.000-07:00

One of the things I rarely write about in my blogs is my weekly activities. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I'm a mommyblogger, but I'm not a mommyblogger. Maybe because I"m a midlife blogger, but I'm not a midlife blogger. My life kind of blends into both. I'm a midlife mommyblogger? No, that doesn't quite fit, although I swear, if chemo pushed me into pre mental pause, some heads are going to roll. I don't plan on going mental pausal until I"m at least eighty. I do often step back and wonder why, knowing that my girls were about to enter high school, having about ten years left to the wonder years with them, being in my late forties and having the house to ourselves, did I start having babies again ( Seph is 18 (almost), Cay is 16 (almost) big big big break Abi is 4 (almost) Gus is 3 (for real) and Ave is 1 (almost).

What the heck?

Oh yeah, we thought the well had gone dry.

Well, it didn't. Boo on You.

Anyway, that leaves me stuck in the middle of some sorts of being the mom getting her daughters ready for college (soon), and being the mom getting her daughter, and soon the sons, ready for pre school. It's a weird place to be. There are times I feel like I don't quite belong in the new mommy pool (boy I forgot how vicious those guys can be) and times I feel like I don't belong in the high school mommy bleachers (band moms, sport moms, cheerleader moms...I just don't fit). We've missed many a football game, band event, and otherwise this year. Sometimes it just isn't feasible bringing a two year old and an infant to a football game. One wants to play kamikaze pilot off of the bleachers while the other wants to nurse and watch the game...at the same time. My husband and I were able to attend some of the events solo, but it was a bit lacking with the family theme. Needless to say, when you have three three and under at home, it also makes it hard to volunteer for booster events (not that I'm Ms. Volunteer of the Month to begin with). And let me tell you this, no one is more judgmental than booster parents when it comes to non booster participators. Erg. On the flip side, there really aren't many women my age birthin babies. And although the birth rate at my workplace has skyrocketed, I don't quite fit in new mommy circle either. I already know what they are trying to learn and when I offer my "Words Of Wisdom," I'm often looked at the know it all hippy dippy chic that doesn't want to drag a three year old to Disney World because I already know that a three year old will only like the first 30 minutes of it and then will whine for the rest of the five hours you're there. Not to mention that, hey, I am the middle aged dippy hippy chic and not the in my twenties young mom that the rest of them are. It's not their fault, really, that I don't quite fit in. I'm not sure I really want to fit in.

Before I go on, let me stop you now! I'm not really complaining. And no, you won't read about me selling my younger children to the black market gypsies, nor will you see me running away in the middle of the night with Vin Disel. There are just some times when I get tired of flying solo (especially since my husband goes to work at 5 a.m. and when he gets off of work he's working on rebuilding our house and doesn't get home til rather late...really late...extremely late...late).

And, in defense of all the booster moms and new mommies, I am a bit of a hermit. I find myself feeling more comfortable wearing mismatched clothing and hair pulled up in a pony tail reading or blah blahing, than I do running off to the nearest craft show or Disney World events. That's just me.

I'm just...

Bored today. I don't feel like it. You know what I mean?

Ah, hell

2009-05-26T13:12:00.001-07:00

War sucks.

Nuclear weapons suck.

Military dick tators suck.

My brain is a jumble of thoughts.

Who do these people think they are?

What gives them the right?

I had a super long post on how much it all sucks.

Maybe someday I'll post it.

Whoda Thunk It?

2009-05-25T05:14:00.000-07:00

I've been teaching 5th grade for way too many years now...that explains the madness. Anyway, when you teach lower grades, you see the innocence, yes, still, even in the fifth grade, that children possess. It is their redemption ticket when I see them years later in high school (being that I have two high schoolers, I see them often enough), and they have grown out of that innocence and into adulthood. When meeting them, I cast back and grab a memory or two of their innocence and smile away...blissfully ignoring the fact that sweet Jane Doe is missing most of her dress during Ring Ceremony, and turning away from Dear Little Johnny gagging his newest squeeze with his tongue. This can be easily done at these functions due to the obvious rule of teenagers having never been fifth graders to begin with and tend to ignore the waddling former fifth grade teacher that has become a beaming bumpkin standing in the corner.

These reunions are quickly forgotten. However, all are not just ships going by in the night.

Yesterday evening, my loving nephew of almost 21 years stopped by for a visit (I still can't believe he's going to be 21...TWENTY-ONE?!!?). Tagging along with him was his girlfriend, his sister, and his sister's boyfriend. And although sister's boyfriend hadn't been a student of mine, he just couldn't stop himself from talking about how bad he was in the fifth grade, and how mean I was when he was placed on in-school suspension in my room. I went into teacher mode and smiled and beamed and nodded and wished they would just go on home so I could stop listening to what a mean witch I was way back then. To break the monotony of hearing of my bitchness, I told my nephew that Atticus was going to have a birthday this week.

"Whoa, what did you say his name was?" asked the former bad ass.

"Atticus." I replied.

"Atticus, you mean like Atticus Finch?" puzzled look crosses his face.

"Yes, that's him." I nodded.

"Wow, that's like my favorite book in the whole world." he amazingly responded.

And thus melted away the bad ass former student and Miss. Bitchface teacher to be replaced with two people discussing one of the best books ever written, "To Kill A Mockingbird," by Harper Lee. Of course, this could only happen after I wound my jaw back up to the rest of my face, being that my jaw had literally dropped to the ground. Here I was sitting with a kid that almost didn't get out of middle school because of his attitude, discussing Atticus Finch, Boo Radley, and Jean Louise. His favorite scene was at the end when Boo saved Scout. Mine too! He read the book five times! I did TOO! He was bummed out when his teacher assigned the book because he thought it was some stupid crime book. I WAS AND DID TOO!

Amazing, isn't it? What can happen when you take the blinders off.

Whoda thunk.

Love at First Byte

2009-05-22T03:35:00.000-07:00

Confession. I haven't been blogging long. Actually, I believe I started in mid February with my very first post, Twist Top. It is still a favorite of mine. Of course, being a new blogger, I did as all new bloggers and started trolling trawling looking for blogs to read as well. One of the first I found was Love Letters by Cora. Her true to life profile picture lured me in, but it was her bubbly personality and snip wit made me a follower.

Cora is in the process of building a budding, blooming, blossoming a forest fire of a relationship with a tree of a man named Scope. He's quite the gentleman. A real keeper. He's also like over a foot taller than she is and looms over her like a 100 year old oak tree. But get this. She met him here, on Blogger, over the internet.

Internet relationships don't work. You're taking a chance meeting someone you've never actually met. You'll end up with the uni-bomber.

WRONG!!!

Well, maybe not wrong for everyone. Internet hook-ups have a potential for danger danger danger. Yes, it's true. But if you are careful, do back ground checks, make your relationship known to the public, and learn karate...Tae Kwan Do...Pilates...it can also be just as fun, exciting, and rollar coastery as meeting someone the typical way. I met my husband of more years than I thought I would ever stay married over the internet.

Yes. You heard me. Over the internet.

We were both avid gamers. I'll admit, he was way more avid that I was, but I was in the avid field. My baby sister introduced me to this wonderfully medieval, fantasy world called (pause) Everquest. I loved it. Imagine a network where you can not only Instant Message people, but you do that WHILE you are hacking away at some burly monster, wearing fabulous science fantasy...FANTASY people...we're talking big boobs, small waist, and tight butt fantasy...clothing, casting magic spells, drinking mead, and eating bread all at the same time! My brother-in-law was easily annoyed by my ability to meet and greet. Even in the midst of battle, I would always be in the middle of pink conversation (otherwise known as tells or er...instant messaging). I played a healer. Her name was Polnedra (I miss her so so so much). Anyway, to make this book of a story short, one night my sister, who was a druid, was playing with her friend Keiser, who was a dwarf rogue. He invited his friend, Moloc, who was a half-elf ranger ::insert man find whistle::. They needed a healer. She called me. I came a-runnin.

I would like to say that when we met our eyes locked across a room of dead frog people...the world stopped spinning...sappy music filled the air...time stopped. But the truth was, I had never healed a ranger before, so in the beginning my ineptitude annoyed him, and he kinda just ignored me. Keiser, on the other hand, was easily swayed by my elfin big boobs and blonde wit. So, I was invited back. Eventually, I was able to hook my claws...er...get my hands on...shove my way in...um...got to know Moloc. We started out as casual chatters:

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Whats up?"

"killin shit."

"Cool."

"Yeah, Cool."

Obviously, we extended our conversations to include more than one syllable words.

As time went by, we went from casual gamer conversations in guild chat, to talking in tells (I.M.'s), to yahoo instant messaging. Then one night...while lightening crashed and thunder rolled...while the wind shook my window panes like a thirsty vampire struggling to break in...I asked Moloc for his phone number. Believe it or not, HE WAS THE LEARY ONE! He almost didn't give it. I can't say I blame him. I was the freaking older woman that played online fantasy based games. But he gave in, and I not only got his number, but he gave me his real name as well. I guess it would have been kind of awkward calling him by his gaming name. Ta ha. We talked from 9 to 5. Seriously. 9 p.m. to 5 a.m. I had work in the morning. It was crazy insane. I'll be honest, by the time 5 a.m. rolled around, I was crushing hard. Real Hard.

After a month or two of phone chatting (keep it clean, girls), he decided we needed to meet. I freaked. Honestly, I didn't know if I was ready to meet him. My butt was too big, I didn't have boobs like Polnedra, and the hair on my legs have a tendency to grow inches the minute I shave. It was a scary decision to make, but I said, after about a week of pondering, yes. Yes, I said yes. He made plans, let people know he was flying off to meet a mad woman so that if he didn't return, they could inform the FBI, and flew down here. We decided to try it out, just for the weekend. I was so freaking nervous walking to his terminal.

He was just as nervous, sitting there with his suitcase between his knees, although you won't get him to admit it. He said I was hiding behind the pillar (I wasn't...I was trying to figure out which one was him), too shy to walk up to him. He stood up. He smiled. He said, "Hey, you. Come here." and gave me a huge hug...no kisses...no stress...no expectation...just a huge, glorious, hug (the rest came later).

It was one of the best weekends of my life.

To all the Girls I've Loved Before

2009-05-21T06:48:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago, give or take a few months, I made one of the hardest decisions in my life. It was even harder than taking that first bite of broccoli. And we ALL know how hard that can be (except for Savant, but she's weird like that).

It was early in the morning when Mr. Stainrejecting Whitecoat Oncologist came into my room. At least I think it was early morning, it's hard to tell when the only window you have around you is the one to your soul (insert a bit of drama here). He delivered my diagnosis with empathy and sympathy, more empathy than you'd expect from a whitecoat which is why I stuck with him through thick needles and thin. His deliverance of my death sentence was Leukemia. It came with all the lifetime movie network drama one liners in existence. Very surreal. Very chemical. Very dramatized. I felt distanced from the entire thing; almost like having an outer body experience. But one thought did surface from this mess of jangled information floating through my mind.

Who is going to take care of my children when I'm gone.

That was the only fear I had when it came to dying. Who. Who was going to love them like I do. Who was going to take them to church. Who was going to teach them about love. Life. Teen pregnancy and how to avoid it. How to say no to drugs. Keep bad boys from them. Make them stay in school. Teach them how to treat people right. Love them like I do. ::aside:: Wow, I'm having a hard time writing this one. Bear with me.

The mind works quickly when presented with this situation, believe it or not, and brick wall after brick wall I hit trying to find someone to fit the bill. I shouldn't have tried so hard. My little sister did all the work for me. Although I shouldn't say little, she's only 18 months younger than me.

Tut and I grew up like twins. What she had I had, and what I had she tore from my unprying hands. It was love hate. Sometimes we loved each other, most of the time we hated each other. You know, like sisters do. We grew up, grew apart, grew back together once we reached our late twenties and entered our thirties. She never teased me about my age because she knew that she wasn't that far behind. Before the doctors could even find out what was trying to kill me, she drove over 1,000 miles to be with me. She sat her LeBeouf Butt on a very small step stool and read Anne McCafferty's "All the Weyrs of Pern," every single night that I was in ICU. And when it looked like I was going to live long enough to attempt chemo, she stepped up to a bigger plate.

I have to pause in my story here to add her partner, T. T not only gave up being with my sister for the months she was here with me, she didn't hesitate in stepping up to the plate with my sister. From that day on, she stopped being my sister's partner and became my sister.

Back at the ranch.

Tut and T decided to take my girls home with them. We drew up papers. Fixed my will. Had Power of Attorney given to them. They took them away from the chemo, the illness, the on again off again hospital stays. They took them away from seeing their mother fade away and touch the brink of death. They took them to school. They fed them. They played with them. They did homework with them. They took them to church (trust me, they did). Most importantly, they loved them. I still don't think they understand what gift they gave me. They allowed me to do what I had to do to get better. They allowed me the comfort of knowing my girls would have decent, loving parents for the rest of their lives if I didn't get better. That, in itself, is priceless.

Tut and T were down for a visit this past week. They left yesterday, headed back to home, a really big dog, and work. It's always hard saying goodbye to them. It tugs my heart strings to no end. They took Teen Two with them this time. She's going to work for them this summer. Erg!

I miss them all SO SO SO much.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Don't. Stop. Thinking About Tomorrow

2009-05-19T05:31:00.000-07:00

Imagine my delight, while listening to free radio (yes, I still haven't jumped on the Sirrus Satellite bandwagon), in discovering that Fleetwood Mac is touring this summer. Not only that, they would be in my area after Father's Day. Not only that, I still haven't found that perfect Father's Day present for dear old husband. Not only that, we BOTH enjoyed Fleetwood Mac (yes, I still have a huge crush on Mick Fleetwood). Woo! I'm excited Now (too bad you can't year the tone in my voice...I do cajun really well when I say "Woo! I'm excited Now).

The last time I saw Fleetwood Mac was near about 19 years ago in Saint Louis, Missouri. They put on a spectacular show, and Mick Fleetwood flew through his drum solo like a hummingbird on steroids. It was truly incredible. Stevie Nicks, Lindsey Buckingham, Christine McVie (Okay, so when I was young I use to imagine all three of them in some bizarre love triangle and blamed Christine Mcvie for breaking up Stevie and Lindsay (I'm spelling Lindsey's name both ways since I can't remember how to spell it)), and the rest of the crew. They didn't even have a headlining band because of their super uberness. Ticket price? Beats the hell out of me because I got in free ala boss lady bought mine.

Well, upon getting home, I hurriedly (gracefully) dashed into the house and did the PC scene. I suffer from short term memory loss (what was I saying? What is this post about? What bills honey, the money you gave me this morning is gone), I had to rush in and do this before the ice cream melted. Typed in tickets "Fleetwood Mac Concert Tickets." Mockingly I laughed at the price people would pay to meet and greet the band. Skimmed over the price people would pay to stand up the entire concert right by the stage. Sighed over the price people would pay to stand up in the back of the people who would pay to stand up in the back of the people who would pay to stand up near the stage. Okay, so I scrolled over to the nose bleed section.

Pregnant Pause.

Stupendously Pregnant Pause.

The want me to pay what for seats that have me stuffing my nose with my Aunt Mathida's brand of tampons because the modern tampons don't have enough stuffing to do the job right???

I didn't even pay that much for Eric Clapton and he's the GOD OF ROOOOCCCCKKK. Oh, and he puts on a good show. Even sitting in the getting hit by the nosebleed section. He's good. He's real good. He's the GOOODDDDDDD OOOOFFFFF ROOOOOCCCCKKK.

Okay, so before I go any further, I'm not a cheapskate. Hell, I don't even own a pair of skates. But seriously? 130 dollars for tickets in the upper level? The economy can't be that bad, can it? I mean, they are getting $1400 from the meet and greeters alone. What has the concert world come to? I mean, a few years ago, the closest Daughtry came to my area was in Biloxi Miss. Did I go see him? No, I didn't. The tickets were like $150 something a piece. I don't like him that much.

Think about it. Do you go to concerts alone? No, the bigger the crowd the crazier it is. That's what concerts are all about. Being crazy. Having fun. Listening to a great band. Being deaf for hours on end after the show is over. I remember paying $18.00 to see Motley Crue open for Ozzy Osborne in 1980 something. It was freaking awesome. We were deaf for ages. We were a whole lot of other things as well. Arghh. $130 a piece? Then gas money? Then food? Then concert tee shirts? Then beer (even though I hate beer...it goes with the show)?

I don't think I like Fleetwood Mac all that much.

Now if Roger Waters would be touring with Pink Floyd again...that's a whole nother ball game.

Yesterday's gone...yesterday's gone.

I Want to Thank You

2009-05-15T05:36:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to say thank you to all of you that stopped by and gave me your condolences. Those of you that joined me, and those of you who shared your own grief as well, thank you. Those of you who stopped by silently, thank you. Even though I may never see more than this flat screen posing as your faces, your empathy and sympathy has reached me.

Thank you,

Alex

Seasons in the Sun

2009-05-12T06:50:00.000-07:00

This past week was one filled with tragedy. Friday night, one of the eight graders that attend the school where I work was killed. While attending a party of a friend, he jumped into a swimming pool. No one is sure as to what caused him to become unconcious. CPR was unsuccessful, and he was pronounced dead on arrival at a nearby hospital. Sunday morning at two a.m., my sister-in-law was killed, and I will use the word killed, by cancer. The cancer had spread from her lungs, to her brain, and then to her heart. So much sadness in just one week.

How do you get over that kind of grief?

As a mother, I can not even imagine. It would be akin to drowning, but instead of dying, you kept conciousness while struggling to reach the top and break through to the surface. With eyes open, you can see life passing by, but there is nothing you can do to be part of it. I can not imagine what the boy's mother is experiencing. She lost her husband five years ago, and now, her son. How do you find the courage to go on and be a mother to her surviving children? How can your heart keep beating when it is in so much pain? How do you go on?

My brother met Vicky while working at a friend's restraunt. He had been divorced for several years, and was definately not much of a success in entering the free world. Crazy insane, opinionated, woman hating, God dissin man that he was, Vicky seemed perfect for him. She calmed his stormy sea, righted his wrong, and turned a blind eye to his rants and raves. She, in all clicheness, completed him, even saved him from his own self destruction. Dramatic, I know, but true. They were together for nearly a decade when Vicky was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. It was only a small spot, and they were sure they had gotten it all with radiation and chemo. Both of them were positive. However, it came back, and this time it spread throughout, and with speed. Vicky died within two weeks of being admitted into the hospital. My brothe...my brother is only going through the motions. Their children are all adults with lives of their own. He goes home to an empty house. The lights are off when he drives up. His bed is empty and cold. No one joins him on the porch for coffee. No one listens to his cornball jokes. He is alone. And no matter what kind of support we give him, we can't make his heart whole. Without the responsibility of taking care of his children, how will he go on? How can he get past this pain, and he is in pain. This woman saved him from himself, but he couldn't do anything to save her. And trust me, he will see it like that. That is how he is. Such enormous pain.

One of my favorite lines in poetry is "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." I know that is reference to deflowering as many nubile virgins as possible, but to me it also means to get as much from life before death comes knocking at your door.

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time, by Robert Herrick

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

Who? Who? Who? Who?

2009-05-08T03:47:00.000-07:00

When I was young, and not so young, I thought the lyrics to "Who Are You?" by The Who was actually "New Orleans...Ooo! Ooo! Ooo. Ooo!" Go Figure.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

There's a Hole in the Bucket and It's Letting in Water

2009-05-07T05:33:00.000-07:00

Before I start, I will answer the question swimming on the surface of your subconscious mind. No, I am not obsessing about death this week, I just happened to be playing around with a few what ifs on this bright, way too bright, sun shiny day, so bear, or bare, with me, it won't take long.

::aside:: Neil, from "The Young Ones," was my favorite favorite.

Death movies, you know, the ones where Character X finds out he is dying, only has a few weeks to live, health waning, spends last few weeks of life cramming everything he wants to do before dying. You know, movies like "The Bucket List." Great movie, awesome actors, same plot.

Doctor: "You're dying."

Patient: "No!"

Doctor: "Yes."

Patient: "Penelope, my love, let's get married, go bungee jumping over a crocodile infested river, sell all of my properties, and give the money to some undisclosed charity before I pass from this world."

Penelope: "Yes, lets!"

While there is nothing wrong with this theme, and it has generated lots of Hollywood Bucks, I think I'd rather be in the process of doing instead of having done when my time has come.

So, without further ado (loving the cliche' statements today), my hole in the bucket list otherwise known as "things I'd love to be doing when I kick it, not before I kick it, but as I kick it, you know, like being in the process of breathing my last breath, blinking my last blink, beating my last beat, burping."

1. Eating a 4 pound Godiva chocolate covered strawberry. I don't want to reach the stem, because then I'd be done. I want to be in the middle, or just beyond the middle, of the strawberry. You know, where the juice of the berry starts to dribble down your fingers making trails across your hand. Who cares if they will find my cold, lifeless corpse next to a half eaten 4 pound Godiva chocolate covered strawberry. Who cares about the snickers made by the all knowing paramedics that try to cram life back into me. It was well worth it. Trust me.

2. Listening to Vin Disel read "Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire," or any 1000 page plus book. I absolutely love Vin Disel's voice. Have you ever seen "The Chronicles of Riddick?" There is one line he says, corny, yes, I know, but oh my swooness, anyway, he says "It's been a long time since I've smelled beautiful." Ah, yes, it would probably be my own drool that would have done me in. Paramedics would have to get out their hip boots and wade in.

3. Smoking a cigarette. I quit years ago, but...but...but...but...but. The cool, sweet draw of a menthol cig filling my lungs with its intoxicating, delightful, swirls would be just divine.

4. Drinking a cosmopolitan. Pretending to be Carrie Bradshaw with big laughing teeth, and flirting with my gay waiter is a rare indulgence, but one I enjoy tremendously. My sisters and sisters-in-law would have to all be there. What's the point of drinking cosmos if no one else is there doing it with you?

5. Doing the nevermind. Yeah, right. Like none of you wouldn't put that down as an answer.

That's Right, It Starts With An Earthquake

2009-05-06T11:36:00.000-07:00

My husband is a history channel nut. He loves it. I like it. When we're eating dinner, usually hours after everyone else has downed theirs, I don't mind sitting with him and watching World War II documentaries, Vietnam Documentaries, and Younameit Documentaries. Honestly, I don't. History was, and still is, one of my favorite subjects. However, if you've watched the History Channel, you already know that it doesn't just focus on history. It tends to go on tangents that include what ifs and what nots like, oh, I don't know, SEVEN WAYS THE EARTH WILL COME TO ITS END.

Seriously, I hate doomsday programs. They always spook me out. I can remember being seven years old and hanging out in my granny's back yard with my older cousins. They loved spooking me out by telling me that God was going to end the world in the year 2000. That he was going to burn us all out, and that no one would survive. No one. Not even me or my mom and dad. Then they would chase me around the yard chanting: Burn! Burn! Burn! Yes, I was freaked out. I was so freaked out that when my school went to the planetarium for a field trip, I couldn't watch the ceiling show. It was about the big bang theory, something this little Catholic (at the time) girl was not educated on, something that my little pea-brain connected with, yes you guessed it, the end of the world. I freaked out so much that the teacher had to remove me from the room. Serious trauma.

Anyway, back to dinner and a movie. Let me provide a brief summary of this torturous affair.

Scene one: a solar boom, bloom, flower, flare? I don't remember. (scream! panic! run!) Solar flares happen all the time. The good news is that the nearest star letting out these solar farts is too far away to damage us. All but one, no, not our beloved Sol, but a star that is like a billion or so light years away. Apparently, if this guy lets one out, it will reach us, take out our protective atmospheric layers, and then radiate us to death. TO DEATH!

Scene two: A Black Hole: Well, Asimov and the rest of the Sci Fi gang have it all wrong. These things don't provide gates to some amazingly sophisticated universe, they just muck you up. The start sucking everything in. One scientist described it as conflicting gravitational forces. The earth is trying to hold on to you while the Black Hole is sucking you up. First your head goes, then your hands, your arms, your torso...you get the picture. He thinks that would be the coolest way to go. Uh Huh. Cool. Right.

Scene three: A volcanic eruption of cataclysmic sized proportion. Translation: A really big freakin volcano. Apparently, the volcanic ash produced by this here volcanic eruption would be large enough, and long enough to block out those warm, life bringing rays of the sun. Eventually, everything on earth would freeze. To Death. To Death. To Death. STOP. Somebody slap me!

Scene four: Machines will reach the point where their AI will reach the point that they will indeed become senient beings. And of course, machines, in their perfection, will take over the world. Ever watch terminator? The Matrix? I-ROBOT??? Nuff said.

I will stop now. For one, I can't remember enough on the others, World War III, the dying sun, who knows what else, because the panic I was experiencing at the time took over any rational brain processing I may have had at that time. Another reason is that I love you all, and wouldn't want to inflict any emotional pain on anyone I could call friend. No, I wouldn't do that.

Anyway, back to the future. So, here I was sitting in the living room, with the love of my life not one foot away from me, panicked, screaming silently, freaking out, shedding nervously, watching this program with feigned calm and serenity.

Pass the salt, please.

Fear

2009-05-05T07:45:00.000-07:00

When the girls were younger, I remember watching a movie that sent chills down my spine. The mere memory of the plot behind the movie induced painful nausea, cold sweats, and small fits of panic each time it resurfaced from the hidden depths of the "in denial" files located in my brain. In the movie, Thirteen, a young girl, Tracy, "A" student, fairly well-behaved, living with her single mom, meets another young girl, Evie, popular, social butterfly, and not so well-behaved. They meet, become friends, and thus enters the down cycle of girl number one; a down cycle that takes her into the world of shop lifting, drugs, sex, and rock and roll. The movie takes on that air of predictability; fighting with mom, doing lots of drugs, having fight with new best friend, so on, and so on until she wakes up and sees the light, but it left me, mother of an about to be thirteen year old girl, in a cold sweat.

Growing up, I was a dabbler of sorts into the world that Tracy played with, although I never reached such high proportions. My mom and I had the typical "ergh, I hate her," kind of relationship, however, never to the point of hitting her, running away, the kind of relationship that went from your mom being the one you went to for everything to being the one person in the world that you hated the most. For one thing, my mom and I were never that close. I imagine having eight children to rear (yes, you rear children, raise corn) kind of stood in the way. But my girls and I had a closer relationship, especially with my oldest (the younger was and is too independent, but we have our own type of closeness). I truly believe the two of them saved me from my trip into cancer hell. They were the anchor I would cling to when night came and the deepest, darkest, depression hovered over me taunting me with death. Because of our fight, I truly believe our mother-daughter bond grew into something more. Not to mention, our single status selves took on the "us against the world" type of mentality giving us a common foe to fight against.

Now do you see why this movie did cast a mighty blow of fear into my trembling heart? Teen One was just entering that leery age of thirteen. We had just married my husband. They had a new dad for the very first time in their lives. We had just moved into a new house, although thankfully, in the same school district. So like Tracy, Teen One was experiencing tumultuous change in her life. Change that made her perfect for the "Evie" invasion. Stop. No. Don't even go there. Fortunately, there was no Evie that entered her life. No Evie for Teen Two either. And although the freshman years were hard for me to endure, my "thirteen" fears didn't come to light. Yes, they both went through the "freshman" year where mom was no longer cool, and bitch (I hate that word, but it seems the best way to describe this time) fights became the everyday norm. Teen One's escape into the freshman world was the hardest thing I've had to endure. It was the year she broke away and became someone new. Fortunately, part of her came back once she was done with her freshman year. It's amazing how different they are when they do come back, though. And then this pass year when Teen Two went through the same experience. They came back from it changed, older, none-the-wiser (do we ever?), but back. I miss them, the old Sephie and the old Cay. They were my bestest friends. Now, they are bestest friends to someone else. Girlfriend to some guy. High school senior. College Graduate. Work force member. Wife. Mother

Growing up is what other people call it. Waiting is what I call it.

Oh, The Places We'll Go

2009-04-30T21:23:00.000-07:00

On the road again
Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway
We're the best of friends
Insisting that the world be turnin' our way
And our way
Is on the road again
Just can't wait to get on the road again
The life I love is makin' music with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

The Oak

2009-04-30T19:43:00.000-07:00

When I first came home after evacuating from Hurricane Katrina, and then two years later after Hurricane Gustav, the one thing you noticed, and with sadness, were the massive tree trunks of uprooted oak trees. Trees that withstood the test of time for over a century felled by nature's most powerful storms. Gone, because instead of bending in the winds of adversity, they stood and fought. Some of them, still standing to this day, won, while others fell, rather than give in to the demands of the violence brought in by the storms. Gone, forever, but by those who basked in their glory, embraced in their arms, coddled from the storm, are remembered always.

In light of all the award giving and receiving that has been going around my blog community over the past week, a new one has found its way to me, and I must say, I am truly honored to have received this one. Ms. Tink at The Tink-n-Frog has awarded me with the Renee Award. Here is a short description of the meaning behind the award:

This Award was created by Bella and Ces in honour of their friend Renee, an incredible lady who in the face of a frightening life battle is tackling each day with great spirit and courage.
Here is what Bella says of this award: “this is a brand new award and I have the pleasure and honor of spreading the seed, watching it grow. I hope it finds it’s way to those who are like Renee: the acorn, becoming a tall and sturdy oak, giving acorns…”

Thank you so much, Ms. Tink. I am truly honored.

In turn, I would like to pass this award on to someone I believe has truly earned it, my beautiful and talented daughter, Miss. Persephone at This Tasty Jam is All Me. She's smart, beautiful, talented, and wise beyond her age. An old soul, a young mind, a wiser person I could never hope to be. She is as solid as the oak that sprang forth from one small acorn.

Nerd Rage?

2009-04-28T06:55:00.000-07:00

Space...The Final Frontier
These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise.
It's five year mission:
to explore new worlds
to seek out new life and new civilization
to BOLDLY GO WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE!

::queue weird sci fi music::

I totally LOVED Star Trek. Not only that, I wanted to grow up and marry Mr. Spock (who cared that he was secretly in love with James Tiberius Kirk (yes, I know Captain Kirk's middle name)). And truly, come on guys, we all know that Bones and Mr. Spock, although constantly at each other's neck, would take a bullet for the other.

I was a Johnny Come Lately to the Star Trek scene. The first Star Trek I saw was the fifth movie, The Final Frontier. My friends convinced me that it would be okay, I might even enjoy it, and we'd get to eat movie popcorn to boot. Hmphf, so I went. And loved it. More than loved it. I was completely, totally, and utterly convinced that Star Trek was the best thing that ever happened to me. So, after watching the movie at least six times at the theater, even skipping out of the new Batman movie that everyone was watching and sneaking into ST5:TFF to watch it again, I knew I needed more. Thus began my trek into my own final frontier.

After searching forever and a day, I was able to find the series on the television. My favorite one? The Way to Eden. I was impossible to live with after watching that one. Seriously, if I sang "Headin out to Eden, Yea Brother," one more time, or cupped my hands together and said "one" to another person, I would have been shot. Still, that wasn't enough! I had to read as many Star Trek novels that I could lay my hands on. People actually wrote novels about this stuff. Like new episodes, new adventures, what happened afterwards. Did you know that Mr. Spock actually has a son with Zarabeth? YES, HE DID!

But I digress.

My mother listens to some entertainment tonight type show during/after/whatever dinner. It's usually background noise to me unless some tidbit captures my attention, you know, like: William Shatner is ticked off about being excluded from the new Star Trek movie. Leonard Nimoy is going to be on it, why can't I kind of stuff. No, that didn't start me raging, as my husband who didn't allow me to explain what I wanted to say said I was doing. Yes, he actually said I had nerd rage! The Nerve! Anyway, what started my "nerdrage" (I wasn't nerdraging, by the way, my husband just thought I was nerdraging) was the fact that the new movie shows Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk in their early heyday. Kirk is young and Mr. Spock is young. Wait, Mr. Spock is young? NO HE ISN"T. Mr. Spock is Vulcan. He's not young, and even though he is half human, he doesn't show age like real humans do. How can they put a Spock up there that shows the appearance of being the same age as Captain Kirk? HUH? How?

Get with the program, boys.

I dunno, maybe after watching, and grudgingly watching it I might add, I will know more about the whole young Spock, old Spock thing they are going for.

Hmphf.

Tell A Joke Tuesday

2009-04-28T06:46:00.000-07:00

It's time for Tell A Joke Tuesday, brought to you by Wayne, from Wayne's Window to the World.

1. What's long and green and hangs from trees?

Giraffe snot

2. Why is Cinderella no good at soccer?

She's always running away from the ball.

3. Why is number six afraid of number seven?

Because seven eight nine and ten.

and finally, (does that make you happy?)

4. Whats red and green and goes 55 miles an hour?

A frog in a blender.

Ta Da!!!

(bows)

Thank you, Thank you.

::disclaimer:: Jokes provided by random fifth graders

Honest S Crap

2009-04-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

Hello, want to check out my back. Just the shirt I'm wearing, though, don't look at my butt, it's a deadly weapon. A moving violation. A crime to humanity. Stop! Okay, anyway, look at my back and see if anyone painted a bulls eye on it because I've been TAGGED again. What, a sur prise a par ta. (Bill Murray style). Ms. Kel, at A Girl In Glasses, decided to awarded me with

THE HONEST SCRAP AWARD.

So, she said I'd have to take a picture of myself, wearing only my underwear, and sitting on a unicorn. Since I've had five children, and their ain't no unicorn within a million miles that will buy my story of "Second Time Around Virginity," I will have to abide by the "other" rules.

The rules are simple: State ten things about yourself (can't I just cut and paste the last tag?). Post em in a blog...(der). Then tag a new victim...er...person. (I should re tag Kel. Oooo...maybe that is what I will do)(But then, I know her, she will re tag me and it will turn into a vicious cycle and then there will be NOTHING SACRED ABOUT THIS BLOG ANYMORE) Kidding, Kel). That would have been fun, though. But I"m just not talented enough to be in a blog war. I have also graciously decided not to re tag those I have tagged before (BECAUSE 13 FACTS IS MORE THAN ENOUGH TO COME UP WITH) (I really love Kel's blog).

So, without further ado, I dub Ms. Anita the winner of the Honest Scrap Award. Tag, chicky, you're it.

Oh, Damn. I forgot. I have to write ten things about myself that you don't know. Again.

1. I am the oldest child of my mom's second marriage, but that actually makes me the middle child of both of her marriages (talk about scar tissue). She had eight.

2. I swore I would never have children. Ever. I have five.

3. I don't like babies. They are boring. I just put up with them until they get pass the age of 5 months or so, then I start to like them again. They probably don't like me either, but hey, that's OK.

4. Until I met my husband, my longest relationship lasted about five months. And before you blame it on "the man," I'll admit, the majority of them ended because of me, and the talent I had of finding something that just couldn't be overcome. Seriously. I broke up with one guy because as I was driving my beat up car down the road, I saw a Saab, my then dream car, pass me by, and I thought to myself, "I'll never be able to get one of those if I stay with this guy...ever." That was the end of that.

5. I was 33 when I met my husband, and was paranoid that it wouldn't last because I really, really liked him. Alot. Obviously. We're still married. Phew.

6. When I was little, and young, I wanted to grow up and become an astronaut. That was until I watched a movie that showed the training they went though. They had to take laxatives, wait til it took effect, and then run this bizarre obstacle course in order to reach the bathroom. It was crazy. I knew right then and there that I would never...ever...be able to hold it for that long (There, Ms. Savant, my own little poop story).

7. I still dream of owning my own little coffee shop/used bookstore. Although I hate coffee, the smell of used books with coffee drifting in the background is my favorite smell in the world.

8. I always start projects, and other things like getting a degree, etc, and never finish them. I envy those who can create, and finish. Seriously, I have a quilt that I've been working on for months and months and months, but I no longer have the interest in finishing it. When I started college, I was really scared that I wouldn't make it to graduation. I think my girls kept me from dropping out. Thanks, kids.

(I should use the excuse in number 8 to stop writing this, huh)

9. I played with barbies until I was....er....old. I loved her clothes. Never, in a million years, could I even come close to looking that good in her clothes. Seriously.

10. I am afraid of the dark. If I have to cross a room before switching the light on, it totally freaks me out. I have to slide my hand against the wall and switch the light on before I can step into a room. I'm also afraid of looking into a mirror in a dark room. SCARY!

A Day Late and a Dollar Short

2009-04-24T10:13:00.000-07:00

Well, it has happened. I never thought this day would come, but it has, and now, I just don't know what I will do.

La Tinknfrog has tagged me. I am covered, head to toe, with red and green spray paint (kind of like a frog in a blender). She has tagged me asking to reveal thirteen things that you may not know about me. Well, considering that I don't really reveal all that much about me here, I should have alot of material. But it seems that the paint fumes from the tagging has caused a bit of brain damage...So...I will try my best...and hope that my best is good enough.

1. Eggs. Eggs in a carton must be evenly dispersed. I can never take out just one egg, and when I take them out, I take one from each end of the carton so the carton will be even. If I notice that people have been taking them from one side, I will fix the carton so that the eggs are once again..even.

2. I was a carny. I was a carny for about 5 years give or take. Two of the years I was a carny, it was full time. I had some of the best times of my life on the road, some of the worse, and some of the most painful. Don't regret it. And yes, I did take a bath on daily basis.

3. I eat ketchup on just about everything. Rice, Eggs, Icecream, potato chips, straight from the bottle. I'm not a big fry person, but I will order fries just so I can eat some ketchup.

4. I hate driving over bridges, bridges of just about any type. However, bridges with some type of covering or a train rail next to them really freak me out. When I am driving over a bridge, the radio has to come off, no one can talk, and the windows must be rolled up. No kidding.

5. I believe in ghosts. I think they exist for real, not for fake. I believe in demons, too, but I think ghosts and demons are different from each other.

6. I've had experiences with both of the above.

7. Stealing this one from Tink...I believe in fairies, dragons, magic, love, change, and damsels in distress. I think if I were a vampire, I would be sad that all of this has just about disappeared in these modern times of technology.

8. Smells affect my mood.

9. My favorite smell is my husband, dirty or clean. It is comforting. When he worked offshore and was gone for two to three weeks at a time. I'd sneak one or two of his shirts so that I could keep his smell with me for the sad nights.

10. Even though I teach children who are disabled, I don't think I am strong enough to handle having a child of my own who is disabled. It scares me, the responsibility, the, the trials and tribulations. I know I would love that child, but my patience is so limited, I hope I'd be up for the challenge.

11. My husband and I met while playing an online game called, Everquest. We met because his friend was friends with my sister, they formed a group, and were short a healer. That's where I came in. I healed their group, and became the primary healer for further expeditions. Somehow, I convinced him to give me his number (he was chicken) and we discovered that we liked talking to each other just as much as playing the game. We met, and it worked.

12. I honestly believed chemo had left me barren, this was also backed up by doctors, lawyers and such...and cowboys. Then BAM We had a girl, 11 months later, a boy, a year later, a boy. Hrm...

13. People think I"m super independent, that I don't need to be socially accepted, that I'm easy come easy go, rebel without a clause kind of person...and sometimes I am, but really, I hurt...bleed...and need just like the rest.

So, now that I'm done, I shall go forth and tag three others like I have been tagged. Hopefully they will taggy because I'd love reading what they have to say.

Tagged: A Girl With A Thought
Pirate Chicky
Housewife Savant
Pam's Perspective
Jillian, The Infamous
and
Laala

Have fun if you decide to, have fun reading them if you don't decide to, and I have a headache.

You Get a Line and I'll Get a Pole

2009-04-24T07:07:00.000-07:00

You get a line and I'll get a pole, honey. You get a line and I"ll get a pole, babe. You get a line and I'll get a pole, we'll go fishin down at the crawdad hole. Honey...baby...mine.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Let's Talk About Breasts

2009-04-22T12:21:00.000-07:00

Long, short, round, squashed, flat, poofy, bouncy, saggy, busting out the seams, torpedowee, young, old, wrinkled, firm, milkful, empty, breasts, boobs, milk cartons, jugs, hooters, dirty little pillows...name it what you will, but its all the same. We all have them, young and old, short and tall, fat and thin. I love mine, even though I can just about tuck them into my...ah, nevermind, TMI. But I'm not going to talk about breasts. No, I'm going to talk about something way more important.

Way back a long time ago, I battled cancer and won. I briefly mentioned bits and pieces of this war in various posts. Yes, this is a cancer post, but it's not going to talk about puking and hair loss. I promise, I will get to the puke some other post, this post is more important. When I first began chemo, I was a very angry cancer patient. I was totally pissed off at breast cancer patients. You see, I had Leukemia. It was in my bone marrow all over my body, and those "breast" people just had it in one little ole place. Not only was it in just one little ole place, but they could get it cut out...they could get it removed...they could have radiation, take aim and burn the sucker out even. Not only that, they even had their own "Breast Cancer Awareness" month. Their OWN month. And if none of the above mentioned worked, they could get the thing cut off. I couldn't. No, it just ebbed and flowed throughout my blood system, doing its thing. What was their problem? They had it easy.

Boy.

Was I dumb.

Was I ever stupid.

There can never be enough awareness. There can never be enough funding. There can never be enough education. There can never be enough searching for the cure. Breast Cancer is a killer. It is a vicious killer. It is a painful killer. And there is no easy cure. There is no guarantee. And the cure isn't always permanent. And throughout my time being treated for my own cancer, I learned this. And I, the angry breast cancer envious cancer patient, was humbled.

In Fact:

Not counting some kinds of skin cancer, breast cancer in the United States is

The most common cancer in women, no matter your race or ethnicity.
The most common cause of death from cancer among Hispanic women.
The second most common cause of death from cancer among white, black, Asian/Pacific Islander, and American Indian/Alaska Native women. 1
In 2005 (the most recent year numbers are available):

186,467 women and 1,764 men developed breast cancer.
41,116 women and 375 men died from breast cancer

Furthermore:

Risk factors that increase risk of breast cancer include

Getting older.
Being younger when you first had your menstrual period.
Starting menopause at a later age.
Being older at the birth of your first child.
Never giving birth.
Not breastfeeding.
Personal history of breast cancer or some non-cancerous breast diseases.
Family history of breast cancer (mother, sister, daughter).
Treatment with radiation therapy to the breast/chest.
Being overweight (increases risk for breast cancer after menopause).
Long-term use of hormone replacement therapy (estrogen and progesterone combined).
Having changes in the breast cancer-related genes BRCA1 or BRCA2.
Using birth control pills, also called oral contraceptives.
Drinking alcohol (more than one drink a day).
Not getting regular exercise.

These facts can be found at http://www.cdc.gov/cancer/breast/

Now that you've finished listening to me, there is someone else I'd like for you to visit. Many of you probably already know her. She's pretty famous, and for you SiTS gals, she's a Welcomista. Breast cancer has touched her life, as I'm sure it has touched many of you. We all know someone: friend, family member, co-worker, that has fought breast cancer. She is fighting back. Please, take the time to go to Chicken Nuggets of Wisdom and hear what DiPaola Momma has to say. It's worth the time it takes to click the link here, or click the title of my post, an active link to her post. Read what she has to say. It's well worth it.

Once Bitten

2009-04-21T05:25:00.000-07:00

I imagine it all began about four years ago when one of my students literally got on her knees and begged me, with all of her little ten year old heart, to read this book. So I did. And I'll admit, it was quite a good young adult novel. A little beyond the fifth grader's years, even though she was rather mature for her age, but book suppression I don't believe in...let the parents take an active part in their child's reading list.

By the way, many of you have heard of this book. It's called Twilight.

Uh huh, yes, you heard right. Twilight.

I read it, added it to my classroom library, suggested it to my then seventh grade daughter, and promptly forgot about it. When the next book came out, I didn't bother getting it due to having forgotten the majority of the story. While I read most of the books that went into my classroom library, dragons, magic, sailing away to other worlds were the words that tugged at my heart and bookshelf more so than the popular reading list. Okay, I admit it. I was Lestat's biggest fan, but I gave up on vampires years, even decades ago. Sorry, Lestat, but you ain't got nothin on Aragorn, and don't even try to compare yourself to Fizban. No way, it just ain't gonna happen.

Yeah. Right.

Enter HBO. I'm telling you, right here, right now, HBO knows how to do a series and how to do it right. Deadwood, Big Love, Rome, just to name a few, held me, not the biggest fan of television, riveted to the screen. So it wasn't a big surprise that when last season's, not this season's, run of Big Love reached its finale, we scanned the list of "On Demand" series.

Can we say True Blood? Can we say Bill Compton? Can we say an aussie putting on that sweet southern drawl so that every time he said "Sookie" some over the age of 18 female swooned and melted just a little? Listen to him say it..."Sookie." ::aside:: When he says sookie, it sounds a bit like Elvis saying Soo kay. Hmmm. Needless to say, Bill Compton and Eric the Vampire compelled me to touch the surface of the vampires of the millennium. And when the girls wanted to go to the midnight viewing of the movie, "Twilight," I was only too happy to oblige. Seriously, I know the sap poured into the making of the movie. And I know the rush to fame that Mr. Rob whatshisname is experiencing due to this goo fest of a movie. But hell if I didn't leave the movie theatre feeling all giddy in love can't wait to get back home and snuggle with husband who stayed home. Damn Straight!

I got to thinking, yes, I do think on occasion. It wasn't the whole vampire spiel that pulled me in, it was the way it left you remembering what fresh, not necessarily young...I was already in my thirties when I met my husband, love felt like. Seriously, there is nothing like fresh love. So I went home, scooted next to my sleeping husband (don't think his butt woke up at nearly 3:00 a.m.), and reveled in the "fresh" love feeling. And yes, when the movie was released on DVD, I bought it for my movie obsessed daughter. We watched it at midnight. And once again, I was left with that fresh love feeling. And once again, after the movie, I went to snuggle with my fresh love hottie (and yes, he slept through the entire fresh love episode). It was great, though. What a movie. Not the best of movies, but I was totally digging the love.

So now, after four years and counting, I am finally reading books two through four. I've also picked up the Sookie Stackhouse series (Vampire Bill says, "Sookie."). Quick easy reads. Definitely not going to add them to my fifth grade reading library. I'll leave that decision up to the parents.

Sookie.

Kick It

2009-04-16T20:27:00.001-07:00

Four years and counting

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

And It Makes You Wonder

2009-04-16T04:12:00.000-07:00

Before I get started, may I have your attention, please. Wayne, from Wayne's Window to the World, is posting his boy meets girl story of how he met his Beautiful Jenn. I've been dying to read it (we're talking life support here), and finally, he is writing it! Go Wayne!

::aside:: note the beautifully working hyper link that was so cleverly added to my post.

Ever wonder if birds have it wrong or do they just have it right. They throw their children out of the nest, and then teach them to fly. "Fly baby, fly! Oh damn, cat." They they are off to try again.

Ever wonder why your Internet connection runs so slow even though you've got a strong connection and a super speedy hard drive? I mean, this thing is supposta be like Michael Phelps on steroids. Come on now, already.

Ever wonder why English is so damn hard to learn? I mean think about it. The rule for making a word plural is to add "s" to words ending with a constant and add "es" or "s" to words ending in vowels, but then there are some words that you just wouldn't add anything to, keep it like it is, and then some words you change the spelling in order to make it plural, and SO ON. How do we expect to learn all of this crap? Huh? You tell me.

Did you know that spam would have went out of business if it hadn't of been for WW II? Yep, it sure would have. Due to its nonperishablility, Spam was a popular food item to put into the soldiers MREs. When our boys returned home, they missed the taste of spam so much, they brought it to the dinner table. Sales rose, the company stayed in business, and viola', Spam is on our market shelves as we speak.

Hawaii is one of the largest consumers of Spam. Go MEAT!

Ever wonder why people think they have to go so FREAKIN fast in a 25 mile zone? It drives me nuts.

Ever wonder why blue is called blue? I mean, who came up with that? Why call blue blue and not call it red? Don't say because red is red, because red wasn't red before someone said it was red. And if blue was called red, would that make something that is red (blue) feel cold? Or would it feel hot? And would something blue (red) feel hot? Would it make you feel all dangerous to be dressed in blue? Hmmm. And why I'm on it, who started calling grass, grass? And why?

Just randomness roaming around in my head. I've got to run now, we're taking a road trip to the French Quarter and my kids are bugging me to get ready. (There's a train a comin...don't need no ticket you just get on board)

Roger Wilco, over and out.

Tell A Joke Tuesday

2009-04-14T12:28:00.000-07:00

Tell A Joke Tuesday is brought to you by Wayne from Wayne's Window to the World. The post title is an active link to his website. Enjoy!

How Soon Is Now?

2009-04-13T11:44:00.000-07:00

The only sex talk I received came from a cousin-in-law, yes, someone not even related by blood, when I was about the age of eleven. At least I think I was eleven, I'm not sure. Subject matter rolled around girls getting periods, and choosing between tampons or pads. No mention of "hey, you can get pregnant now" or "women have a vagina and men have penises" (hey, just what is the plural of penis? Is it penises or peni?). Thinking back, I believe the closest I came to the sex talk happened when I was riding the merry-go-round and I shot the middle finger at Tony Leco. I got a spanking and was told that showing someone the middle finger was the same as wanting to touch someone's privates and I had better NEVER do that again.

Obviously, five children later, I have learned quite a bit about sex. As my daughters grew up, I knew I was going to be much more modern and cooler than my mom. I was going to be as upfront and open with them as the law allowed. And as I inwardly ranted, raved, and uproared the first time I caught my four year old exploring, outwardly, I calmly explained to her that it was okay to touch and figure out things with your body, but you need to do it in private. Yes, inwardly I cringed, but there was no way I was going to mentally scar my child from being a sexually, self confident woman when she grew up. You'd think that this would have been an easy thing for me to do, but growing up in a family that tarred and feathered children who were caught "exploring," made it more difficult than the simple textbook solution. Seriously, we were spanked, told that it was a sin, and if we did it again we were going to get a bigger spankin. So, telling my children that it was okay, and a natural thing to do, was a big personal battle won. Go me. I was a modern mom.

As my daughters evolved, talking about sex was initiated by them. They came to me, we talked. We covered subjects ranging from STDs, staying safe, making out, erections, oral sex, what the first time felt like, emotional connections, knowing when, and a slew of other things. I was really proud at the information I provided to my girls. Then my seventeen year old took me down a peg. She walks up to me and says,

"Hey mom, how come you never had the sex talk with me?"

Flabbergasted, I replied, "Huh? I've been talking about sex with you since the fifth grade!"

"Yes," returned seventeen year old, "but you never actually told me how."

"How? What do you mean, how." I said clearly puzzled.

"You know, what parts go where and how to use them."

Oh.

OH.

OOOOoooHhhhhh.

"You mean...that talk,"

Clearly, I had missed something. Yes, I provided them with information, tolerance, and acceptance, but I missed something. Something big...something important. Something I took for granted. What parts go where and how to use them. So I found myself stumbling around words like penis and clitoris and orgasm (she already knew what that was...whew). We talked about hows and whys and whens (again, she thinks she's in love but they both want to wait...whew). EYE talked about knowing your body and what feels right for yourself. That it was important to know your limits, and that when you were ready to take step, only take that step if you are 100% sure.

It was a conversation that was just a bit out of my comfort zone, which is an odd place for me to be, especially concerning my girls. I was a single mom for the first 11 years of their lives. We fought cancer together, battled living with grandma together, found a new dad together. As cornball and lifetime movie network as it sounds, our battles and experiences drew us closer together than a normal mother-daughter relationship. So to feel weird while having an intimate conversation was a whole new ball park. Nevertheless, I am still kicking myself for leaving out a butt load of information. Important information that often leads one to go out and discover by experience if not provided.

So my question is, now that I have a new brood up and coming, how soon is now? I strongly feel that information provides the best defense. And I truly believe that informing is not the same as giving permission to go out and sleep with everything that walks by. Not only that, I have sons, and they are an entirely different kind of beast (no pun intended). What do you tell them? How do you open up that line of conversation? My oldest son is only two, so this gives me about two more years to get ready (Kidding!).

I'm still laughing at myself. How could I have missed that? Which parts go where and how do you use them.

Hmphf, this modern mom has been knocked flat on her modern ass.

What Easter Bunny?

2009-04-10T09:01:00.001-07:00

I'm innocent, I tell you. The Easter Bunny didn't even pass this way! ::Burp::
Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Link illiterate

2009-04-08T12:04:00.000-07:00

Yes, I am link illiterate. I can't get the suckers to work. So, pardon any inconvenience while I experiment.

On Sunday nights, my husband and I love listening to Hearts of Space. You can subscribe to their archives for a low monthly fee, or you can hope you remember about the program in time, and catch it free on Sundays. Find Hearts of Space here!

My very talented daughter is an actress, artist and writer. She can't spell to save her life, but her writing makes for an interesting read, at least I think so. You can find her scribblings, when she scribbles that is, here!

Wayne's Window to the World hosts Tell A Joke Tuesdays almost religiously, each, yes, you got it, Tuesday. However, as cornball as the jokes I tell are, it isn't his jokes that keep me coming back. It's the love story he is living with his lady love, Jenn. Those two keep me coming back for more. I wish he'd blog about how they met. You see, he lives in England, and she lives in the US of A. Hmmm. I found Wayne's blog via Jillian, one of my very first followers. She is hysterically funny. If my links work, check em out!

There are some times I think the blogging world is very much like high school. We blog our finest, set goals to reach for, wedge our way into circles, and hope the popular girls notice us. Jeez, I hope this doesn't turn me into the bumbling, dopey chic that will totally prostrate herself at the feet of the SiTS girls just to gain a tidbit of social acceptance! Nah, they don't roll that way. Actually, the majority of my reading list comes from there. I've found some awesome blogs like this chicky, this one, and a whole lot more. It amazes me how those that really appeal to me, like Ms. Savant, who advises against trying to gird a turd (and I totally agree), and Ms. Pam,the librarian with red pumps, write so differently from not only myself, but each other as well. But I stalk...er...haunt...er...visit..yes, visit them regularly, and enjoy reading their posts almost as much as my own.

In keeping with today's randomness in order to help me unilliterate (is that a word?) my link deficit, my middle daughter is in love with Johnny Depp. His last name makes me think of hair products and pirates. Speaking of pirates, this pirate chicky here needs to join The Bilge Pumps and get her pirate on!

Very random story by Ronnica.
Anyway, thanks to you all for putting up with my experiment.

Live long and prosper.

Tell A Joke Tuesday

2009-04-07T15:08:00.000-07:00

Tell A Joke Tuesday is sponsored by Wayne's Window to the World (he makes me want to song the theme song to "Wayne's World" everytime I visit his blog). He's feeling kind of down this Tuesday due to him having to return to England and leaving his beautiful Jenn here in the US of A. Anyway, in keeping with my cornball sense of humor, here is my addition to Wayne's World ...er...window. You can click on the post title when your done and visit Wayne. Have fun.

Part Two: Boudreaux and Thibodeaux (if you need to know how to pronounce these names, see my first installment of the Boudreaux and Thibodeaux jokes).

Boudreaux and Thibodeaux were out sittin on da front porch at Thibodeaux's house jes enjoyin da sun goin down in da bayou. Boudreaux sit up and say to Thibodeaux..

"Meh, is dat Clarence ova dair across the bayou makin dem faces at me?"

"Meh, Boudreaux," say Thibodeaux, "Ah shure tink it is Clarence. He done shot you da bird, too."

Boudreaux slapped his knee and he say, "Dats it. I'm goin ova dair and teach dat Clarence a lesson." So Boudreaux got up from off da porch and ran to da bridge to across da bayou to Clarences house.

Thibodeaux jes waited on da porch watchin fo Boudreaux to come back when he was done.
Well...not even ten seconds pass when Boudreaux come runnin back all outta breath.

"Meh, Boudreaux, you back already?"

"Aww, Meh Thibodeaux, I didn even go. When I got to the bridge dair was a sign warnin people away from Clarence..."

"It said: Warning: Clearance 7 Feet.

The End.

Thank you, Thank you.

(bows)

April is Autism Awareness Month

2009-04-07T06:24:00.000-07:00

I want you to think of your family, friends, work associates, church mates, neighbors, even the daycare that your children may attend. Many of you personally know someone, close to you or just an acquaintance, who is battling autism. As a teacher, I have taught children with dealing with various spectrums of autism, I have two good friends that have autistic children, and in my family, a cousin recently diagnosed. Autism is one of the fastest growing developmental disorders in the world.

Facts about Autism:

· Autism affects as many as 1 in 150 children
· Autism is the fastest-growing serious developmental disability in the world
· More children will be diagnosed with autism this year than with diabetes, cancer, & AIDS combined
· Boys are four times more likely than girls to have autism
· There is no medical detection or cure for autism, but early diagnosis and intervention improve outcomes
· Autism does not discriminate by geography, class, or ethnicity

www.worldautismawarenessday.org

Crazy Mamma at www.craybickford.blogspot.com is doing weekly posts on autism. I've added an autism awareness button to the left of my post, take a look, that links directly to her blog. You can also click on the title of this post, and hopefully, the link I've added in the post (if it is working, which is probably doesn't). She can probably provide more accurate information concerning autism.

Do You Kiss Your Momma With That Mouth?

2009-04-06T10:09:00.000-07:00

Last minute grocery shopping seems to be a hobby of mine. It never fails that when it comes time to planning, arranging, chopping, and dicing supper, I need some key ingredient. Friday's meal was no different, so off to the grocers I went.

I think Friday's theme for me was casual. I was casually dressed in Capri style jeans and a short-sleeved, black turtle neck. My hair was casually held in a black pony tail. The vehicle I drove to the grocer's was an adorable, but casually styled black Amigo, and my money was stuffed into my pocket as I casually strode across the parking lot headed towards the door that led into the grocers. Yes, and the young man at the estimated age of 17-18 years just casually, with a smile on his face, gave me the finger.

Oh no he didn'!

Oh yes, he did.

And it wasn't a quick flash of that middle finger. It was a long, drawn-out, swiped across the air like a grand gesture middle finger. No, it wasn't the digging in your nose accidental flip off. He was really flipping me off. AND grinning while he did it. Well, let me tell you...he picked the wrong day to stop sniffing glue. Although Friday's theme was casual, I was still stewing over a "conversation" I had with Miss. Saucy Pants Teenager, and let me tell you, my stew not only had meat and potatoes, it had carrots, onions, AND garlic. So, when Mr. I'm Going to Flip You Off, flipped me off, I was pissed off.

Anyway, I casually followed Mr. Flip Off into the grocer, and while he waited in line to cash his check I tapped his shoulder.

Tap, tap. "Excuse me? Mr. Flip Off?" smiling like a casual shopper smiles.

"Yes?" Turning with a small smile sealed to his face.

"Did you just flip me off" Questioned the casual shopper.

"No," laughed Mr. Flip Off, "I was flippin off one of my friends."

"Ah," commented casual shopper, "well, next time make sure I'm not standing in between your friend and your flip off, because frankly, I was in direct line of sight of your flip off."

"No,' exclaims Mr. Flip Off. "It was at my cousin." He turns away and mutters, "God damn."

Smiling casually, "No, I don't think God had anything to do with it.

Don't even think Mr. Flip Off even said that he was sorry. Would I have been appeased by an apology? And what made him bring God into it? What did God have to do with it anyway?

Could this have been a result of extremely bad manners, poor upbringing, following the example set by peers, or just general teenage male behavior? I know that when I was his age, the fear of my momma finding out I had done something like that in public, much less use the "G.D." word, would have been enough to keep my middle finger in place, where it belonged. And let me tell you, she would have found out before I would have made it back out of the grocer's door. Not only would she have found out, but I would have more than likely been smacked a good one by the receiver of my finger.

It amazes me how society has changed. And frankly, I can hear some of you muttering in the background saying, "Shee, that ain't nothin. You need to come to my neighborhood." And you know, you're probably right. In an age where young girls roam the street wearing shorts that look like underwear, guys listen to songs that brag about rape (yes, someone was blaring these very lyrics from his car stereo letting the whole parking lot listen how he likes to rape his bitch and then get his game on), and the list goes on...I can't even begin to describe, and you probably already know more than even I know, our teens are getting educated. Whether you home school or public school, they are still being exposed to all of that "crap." And I know, I know, you've got to teach your children well. OH, and I am, trust me. IF my littles ever...and I mean..EVER behaved in such a manner and EYE found out, there would be more than hell to pay.

But I'm no fool. I've been a public educator long enough to know that there are good families that teach good behaviors and end up with good kids...and sometimes they don't. There are "bad" families, that don't teach any expected behaviors, and end up with "bad" kids...and sometimes they don't. Sometimes its luck of the draw...sometimes its what is taught at home...sometimes its do what I say not what I do...sometimes it's just throw it all in the pot and hope you get soup.

All I know is that that kid on Friday REALLY pissed me off.

But Please, Ma?

2009-04-03T06:47:00.000-07:00

She thinks silently to herself, not daring to speak and alert the "mother" that she is in the car. Don't move, don't speak, be still and silent, and maybe the "mother" will not notice that it is me behind the wheel, and I will get to drive us home.

Aww, Ma. Please???

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Tankful Thankful Thursday

2009-04-02T04:14:00.000-07:00

Due to the fog that encases my brain on occasion, I have stolen this idea from a librarian who dares to wear red pumps to work, http://pamperspective.blogspot.com. She's a wild one. The title of this post links to her original "Thankful Thursday. I can't seem to get my links active in my posts for some reason. Tanks, Pam!

In case you haven't noticed, and since you haven't been physically around to see me moping about, I've been having battling a batch o blues, and loosing. You wouldn't believe that someone with my sunny disposition would be battling da blues, but I have been, and it's really been a battle. Thanks to Ms. Pam, who's been battling not the blues, but some nasty bug, I now have a weapon to use in my battle. So, without further ado (what a cornball cliche' of a statement)...

Tankful Thankful Thursday:

1. The Tankful: Last year, Mr. Hurricane Ike paid a visit to Galveston, Texas, however, he couldn't resist stopping by our humble town before completing his trip. He was such a considerate, gracious, guest that he couldn't leave without returning our hospitality. So upon his departure of our region, and it was only a pit stop might I add, he left in his wake a tidal surge generous enough to share with five local communities. As a result of his oh-so-gracious gratitude, we are now what is considered homeless.

The Thankful: I am thankful for my parents who have generously opened their doors to us, yes, all seven of us, while we repair our storm battered home. It hasn't been easy (yes, it's true, you can never "really" go back home) on either party. We invade their (her) area, and they (she) invades ours. However, we would be lost without them, and I am so very grateful that in the midst of our troubles, they have welcomed us.

2. The Tankful: My second born daughter has struggled in school forever. She was able to start early due to delayed speech, and has maintained average to below average grades ever since, especially in the area of...Math. School has been, and still is, an enormous wart on her humanity. This is her first year in high school. Dun dun duuuuunnnnn (mystery scooby doo sound effects, in case you were wondering).

The Thankful: This has been one of the most incredible weeks in her high school career, and I, for one, am thankful. Beginning Saturday (yes, I'm counting Sat. as part of this week), the lovely Miss Cay was involved in drama rally, her first since making it into the Talented Drama program. Her school placed second. She didn't make All star Cast, which bummed her out a bit, but she was completely stoked. Secondly, she went to the Sadie Hawkins dance with a SUPER HOT COLLEGE GUY (okay, he's a friend that attends a local youth group with them, mother approved, good guy, and totally not a romantic interest), and all of her friends were dying to know where she got a hold of that guy. Needless to say, my attention loving daughter was totally loving it, and had a blast. Monday, at school, she is still basking in the admiration of her fellow students, when her drama teacher gives her the critique from Saturday's judges. They said her performance was incredible, and that the only reason she didn't make All star Cast was due to the length of her part. Too short (that will show that drama teacher...give her a bigger part huh?). BUT what I am most thankful for is the fact that Miss Cay MADE STRAIGHT A's ON EVERYTHING THIS SEMESTER! Can I get a Woo Hoo?

(aside: Miss Sephie, I love you, and even though you are not part of this post, I am thankful for every day I have with you (most of them anyway).

3. Final Tankful: Yes, as mentioned earlier, I've been rather downcast, downtrodden, down in da dumps, and drabby for a while now.

Final Thankful: I am thankful for having a husband who puts up with my moody moods. He does try to get to the bottom of my fits of dumpfulness, even though I'm not the most helpful when it comes to letting people know what's bothering me. I'm still not telling you what the problem was/is, and you can quit worrying if you did something to cause it (curiosity killed the cat you know), but I love you for wanting to fix it.

So, keeping with Pam's post, what are you thankful for?

(Pam should do a Mr. Linky for her Thursdays, huh...hint hint)

Night Falling

2009-04-01T04:18:00.000-07:00

For my fifth pregnancy, the hormone dump I was experiencing not only made me violently ill, it took my breath away. So, early did I go into my first doctor appointment. My OBGYN is awesome, I'm going to add this early. She's got an amazing sense of humor, and usually lets me get my way...most of the time anyway, so when she was doing an ultra sound and whispered "oh crap," I sat up and paid attention. Of course, since I was only five weeks pregnant, she was using the "other" ultra sound tool. Prodding here, poking there, shoving (can that thing get any further in?) there until "Okay Alex, see that? I think we're looking at two." Yes, two. I didn't say "Oh crap." No, I won't post what I said here, but it was followed by hysterical, maniacal laughter.

Two? At 39? Two? Almost 40? Two? When we already have four at home?

Oh Crap.

Dr. OBGYN went on to say that one of the egg sacs wasn't as developed as the first so she wanted to see me again in one week.

(sick, sick, worry, worry, more sick, more sick, freaking out, sick again, acceptance, dog ass sick, excited....a brief description of that week. I don't feel like going into detail).

Back to Dr. OBGYN, one week later. It was gone. Vanishing Twin Syndrome. It happens more often than not, actually, and most are never even discovered due the practice of waiting until the second trimester to give ultra sounds. But mine was discovered. And it was real to me. Yes, I know what the extra burden having an additional baby would have been. I know the risk I would have been placed in being 39 and pregnant for twins. I know it would have cramped our eight passenger vehicle that was already seating seven of us. I know all of that.

I miss my baby. I wanted to know him...or her...hold him in my arms. Love him more than I already do. Yes, I love him. He was real. I saw him. And I miss him.

Is that normal? Am I being selfish due to the fact that I have five amazingly wonderful children already? Is it okay to mourn a baby that just went away?

I think it is, and I do.

And the Oscar Goes TO....

2009-03-28T14:36:00.000-07:00

The 2008-2009 annual highschool district drama rally BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS goes to....

::Drumroll::

Miss Alex Jean!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(the crowd goes crazee...well...her mom and maw maw go crazee)

Woo Hoo, my oldest baby girl just won the award for best supporting actress in her highschool's district drama rally! They were competing against eight other high schools in her area.

We Are So Proud!

Abigail's Garden

2009-03-27T07:46:00.000-07:00

Watching patiently
As each seed breaks forth from the
Ground, pink flowers bloom.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

My Boy Likes To Potty All the Time

2009-03-26T12:18:00.000-07:00

It's that time of the year when the leaves are beginning to show their bright, shining faces, flowers spout from the Earth's rich, brown soil, and the birds and the bees start playing kiss chase. A time where getting wet won't lead to getting pneumonia. Where running around with only a shirt on won't be give your neighbors the right to call child welfare. A time of peace...love...prosperity...and (pause) potty training.

Yes, you heard it right. . .potty training.

You'd think by now I'd have the skills of a professional potty trainer. Yes, (said with a sauntering gait in my stride) I've got three pottiers tucked under mah belt. You'd think I'd know everything there is to know, and that within a week of training, I could add another niche in my toilet seat.

Nope.

Not gonna happen.

Albeit a mere year that the last diaper wearer kicked the bucket and started wearing big girl pants, I seem to find myself clueless which direction to take. Let's start with the "potty." Have you seen the selection of pottys they have out there??? There are talking pottys, singing pottys, pottys for the rich, pottys for the poor, pottys that look like trucks, pottys that look like flower pots, frog pottys, bucket pottys, spider man pottys...a potty for every occasion. I mean COME ON! What is the deal here? It all goes in the same place, doesn't it? Anyway, I went with the potty that looked like a truck, and when activated by warmth (not gonna get graphic here), it makes the sound of a truck starting its engine. Yeah, it really does. Well, it looked cute, sounded cute, had cute stickers, but there was no way my son's chubby rear end was going to fit between the wheels of that there bus. Not to mention a flimsy construction and a lid that snapped off the second time it was used as a step stool (yes, it is a supposed step stool as well). So, back to the drawing board...or the local Wal Mart.

We found the potty for him...the Fisher Price Royal Seat thing. It plays four different royal tunes, warmth activated of course, and it is roomy and comfortable for his chubby butt. Much more sturdy than the truck and tractor pull potty.

So, we're set, right? Well, let me just say that pull ups are hard to pull down. We fight to pull the up, we fight to pull them down, and once they are down, he insists on walking across the room with them about his ankles. Secondly, pull ups are like the diapers he so fondly remembers, so why not use them the way he used the diapers? Why can't he potty in a pull up? Why use the potty? So, I abandon the pull up and pull out the Amazing Spider Man big boy pants. Let me pause here and say one thing...Why is it little girl undies fit nicely, accordingly to size, while big boy pants are loose and tend to sag to the knee? I know he needs a little more room in the nether regions, but I don't think we have to worry about a little snugness lowering his sperm count just yet, now do we? Give me some boy underwear that fit please, Alex, for the win. However, all sagginess aside, I am having better luck. They are easier to pull down, and he likes pretending he's spider man.

Soooo...

With my belt slung haphazardly around my waist, packed with stain remover, wipes,Lysol, loaded with resolve and determination, I gaze across the room, meeting his steel blue eyes. Off in the distance you can hear the Clint Eastwood Western whistle going off...I spit...he spits.

It's potty time.

Yes is the Answer

2009-03-25T06:49:00.000-07:00

Look to the right of my blog. See the clicky buttons I have installed? Well, I've just put up a new one, Prayers For Stellan. Stellan is the youngest son of "Mckmama." His story is an amazing one of strength, courage, and tenacity from both him as well as his parents. Stellan was told he would never see the light of day, but he proved, and amazingly so, the doctors wrong, and showed up, not only alive, but alive and kicking, proving that even in this so precise medical world there is a power stronger than even death.

Stellan is fighting once again, and needs your help. Whether you believe in God, some higher power, or nothing at all your prayers and positive thoughts are needed not only to help him, but to give peace to his parents that can only watch Stellan's battle.

I may not have faith in religion, but I do know that there is power and healing in prayer...especially when two or more gather in His name.

Tell a Joke Tuesday

2009-03-24T08:02:00.000-07:00

Tell a joke Tuesday was created by Wayne at http://pudmud.blogspot.com/ , passed on to me via Jillian at http://www.stupidsometimes.blogspot.com/. Word of warning, I'm a horrible teller of jokes, but I will (girding my loin) try. The post's title is an active link to Wayne's blog. Go check out the other jokes! You're apt to find a much better teller than me. Have fun!

prologue...these jokes MUST be told using a heavy cajun accent. Without the cajun accent, it is useless chatter. I have done my best to use a cajun accent while telling these jokes. They are called Boudreaux and Thibodeaux jokes (pronounced Boo dr owe and Tib ah doe). Enjoy!

Number One:

Boudreaux was passin one day bah his bess frin, Thibodeaux's house when he saw him standin out in da middle of his field holdin his hans out in da air and wavin dem aroun. So he stop by and went ova dare and he say, "Mae, Boudreaux, wat you doin out in dis field wavin you hands around in da air for?"

Thibodeaux says to Boudreaux, "Mae, I'm trin to win me one of dem Noble Peace Prizes, das wat I'm doin."

Boudreaux says, "Mae, how you plan on doin dat? You ain't no noble."

Thibodeaux says, "I plan on winnin one for bein out standin in mah fields."

(applause)

Thank you, thank you.