I almost forgot...

...to say that I accidentally drugged Poetroad on Monday - that would have been the highlight of my week had I not been at my parents's house last night where my niece is staying (her argument with her father - my brother - resulted in all sorts of drama, including a visit from the ex-wife, the ex-wife's new boyfriend, the ex-wife's mother, and the sheriff).

So Poetroad woke up with a terrible sinus headache on Monday, and we were out of Sudafed. The old kind - you know, the kind that actually clears the passages so one can breathe. Anyway, one cannot procure Sudafed around here without a trip to the pharmacy, a blood donation, and a first-born sacrifice. I happened to have a little bit of a prescription allergy medication laying around, so I gave that to him instead. Bad idea.

Apparently, there is something in allergy medication that acts as a sedative in his system. I might as well have given him an intravenous anesthesia - he was out cold for hours.

It reminds me of the time when he went to get his wisdom teeth pulled - he had to be "put under," and the nurses were getting a little nervous when they couldn't wake him up. They came out to the waiting room and asked me to pull around to the back door. Then they carried him out to the car. No kidding. Well, he was sort of walking. He was upright anyway, but he was definitely being drug to the car.

Later, after he had slept all day long and I worried if I hadn't accidentally poisoned him, he told me, "Yeah, I can't take allergy medication. It makes me pass out."

Now he tells me. Seems like that would have been some important information to know before I dispensed the drugs. Well, at least he didn't die.

Pilot Program

A mass of paper.

"Paper, Paper everywhere.
A mighty mass; a flood.

Paper, Paper everywhere.
But paper bound in tomes is good."

from "Rime of the Ancient Flat Surface"
Blue Sugarpoet

We bought a bookshelf to house my volumes. Poetroad has volumes too. Books are always welcome here - go ahead and send them, Mimi. Besides, I am going through my kids's books to eliminate the "unloved" volumes, so I should definitely have some room. I will make room for Nancy Drew.

Poetroad, by the way, describes his paper organization style as the "Pilot Program." "Pile-it," actually. "Pile-it here, pile-it there." It's good to eliminate the piles. It's called cleaning, I think. Still, I like to think of it as, "reclaiming the space." I've been trying to reclaim the space for fifteen years.

Not that I am some kind of "Neat Nancy." I'm nothing like that. I have my own Pilot Program going on in my room - it's called "laundry." I also have piles of books, mostly next to my bed - but who will deny an English teacher her books? Actually, I didn't always want to be an English teacher. This was the one career I could think of having that would allow me to justify my piles and piles of books (and papers).

Come to think of it, I really like books. I like the way they look. I like the way they feel in my hands. I like that they come in all different sizes and colors. I like that the words in them can entertain me and make me think and teach me to cook Fudgy Cappuccino Crinkles (which taste better rolled in the granulated sugar than in the powdered sugar, by the way).

Holiday

I’m glad we are on a holiday - seeing as how I seem to be more busy not working. Does that make sense? Of course it could have something to do with the fact that all four kids are at home all day long and it has been raining since Christmas break began.

“Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.”

From “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”
Samuel Coleridge

Did I mention it has been raining? For a WEEK. For a FEW WEEKS. Yes, there is standing water in my back yard, which boggles the mind since I live on a hill. Because of that, we have been indoors for that long. If only it was snow… Remember how I said it was in the 20-degree range a few short weeks ago? It’s almost hard to believe that it’s been in the upper 50s and 60s lately. Crazy. It’s that darn “Pineapple Express.” That’s what weathermen out here have dubbed it anyway. Apparently, the weather makes it’s way from Hawaii (hence the “Pineapple”) and douses us with warm wetness.

Poetroad was referencing this weather pattern the other day, but only he accidentally called it the “Banana Express.” I was quiet for a second before I queried, with stifled laughter, “Did you mean to say the “Pineapple Express? You men – everything is about the “banana” isn’t it.” We couldn’t stop laughing.

Christmas was fantastic, by the way. As usual, Poetroad and I stayed up most of the night working on gifts for Christmas morn. This year, he enthusiastically tackled the project of refurbishing his first drum set (a very nice Junior set) for our soon to be eight year old. He had spent weeks ordering the necessary parts (buying some new hardware, new wraps, etc.) and cleaning some of the original hardware, and it only took us three or four hours to put the things together. The drums look SWEET!

I was going to mention something else, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what. Oh yeah – what I have been doing this week….

This week I have been (with Poetroad’s help) reorganizing the entire house. The fact is that we have a large family living in this small space (it’s a six people, a dog, and a cat, to approximately 1500 sq feet ratio). Europe. I pretend, often, that I live in one of those fancy apartments in Europe. I tell myself, “If the Europeans can live in small spaces, so can I.” That’s what IKEA is for – to help us live in small spaces, right?

So, in an effort to maximize our productivity, we are purging the contents of our home with a “top down” approach. That means that we have been clearing out all of the contents from the closets, from under the bed, from the storage areas, etc., starting upstairs in our room. Next, we tackle the kids’s rooms, and then we eliminate stuff downstairs. The final project will be to clean out the garage (if we can get to it by then).

I asked Poetroad, “How long do you think it will take us to finish this project.” He paused, and then replied, “Conservatively speaking, six months. But I’d like to finish our room this week.”

Okay, then. Guess I’d better get back to cleaning.

And now for something completely different...

I've been taking all of those quizzes, but I just keep getting the same results as all of you have. Here is one I haven't seen yet, though.

You Are Pink!

Tough. Sexy. Tough. Soulful. Tough. Guys are both attracted and scared of you. "I've been the girl with her skirt pulled high Been the outcast never running with mascara eyes"

Who's Your Inner Rock Chick?

Merry Christmas

Lovely little Poets, aren't they?

Besides avoiding the frenzy of pre-Christmas stuff, I went to the U2 concert last night. Wow. Larry is hot.

Anyway, have a fantastic Christmas and New Year everyone!!!

Worst Gift

I'm thinking that the worst gift I ever received has to be the homemade tee a boyfriend gave me when we were in high school. Now I'm not sure if spelling is a trait valued by cowboys, but it matters when you plan on writing something on the back of a Hanes Beefy-Tee...with a Sharpie.

Yes, that's right, my hunky horse riding guy, that I thought was quite handsome at the time, decided to make us "his" and "her" shirts with a black Sharpie. It was a nice thought, but my shirt - with "He's my Sweetie" scrawled on the back - was spelled more like "He's my Sweaty."

I never mentioned anything about that shirt, and I even wore it once in public. Like it was yesterday, I remember the muffled snickers and jeers coming from behind us at the TCBY.

Conveniently, I tossed – uhm “lost” – the shirt. Eventually, I tossed the guy too - but not because of his inability to spell. Although, that didn't help his cause any.

I don't have a pithy title for this post

Okay, I am sick again. This time, however, it's a respiratory thing. West Coast SARS or Avian Flu? Let's hope not. But I have work to do, so being the dedicated employee that I am, I am still working while I am at home hacking up loogies. I'm not sure how one should spell loogies - I just know how to hack them up, spit them out, sneeze them out my mouth, or blow them out my nose.

Just in case you were wondering, having the nose piercing has not complicated the common cold as one might expect it to.

Anyway, the purpose for this post is to give everyone some things to chat about at the office today. Here are a few ideas. Talk amongst yourselves:

1. Should Novels and other reading material be banned from airline toilets? Notice: they are not "bathrooms," so there absolutely should not be any bathing in that space. Please, people are waiting in line to get in there!

2. Votes for worst Christmas tunes? I've heard a few ("Christmas Shoes" and the "Jew Girl" one - that's a terrible song, Mimi, btw...no one wants to think about Mrs. Clause's penis). Now it's your chance to chime in here.

3. What was your worst Christmas gift ever?

Have fun chatting!

Freezing Friday and other randomness

It’s chilly over here on the West Coast (a mere 27 degrees when I pulled into work this morning). This is nothing, really. Twenty-seven is downright warm for some of my readers. Still, 27 degrees isn’t the moderate winter temperature of the mid-forties/mid-fifties fare I’m used to feeling.

Although colder temps unusually don’t seem to affect North-Westerners the same way others are affected by the chill. For example, most people would have the sense to bundle up in a warm coat (a down or frost-free parka perhaps), put on gloves, and wrap a scarf around the gullet in chilly weather. I do have a scarf on (for decorative purposes only – a fuzzy black scarf that I could stretch out and wear as a hat or a tube top should I get the notion to do that). The rest of my attire? Jeans, a long sleeved deep pink shirt, and an apple green corduroy blazer. Come to think of it, I do feel kind of chilly. But not chilly enough to make me break out the frost free jacket (which is mostly reserved for skiing, snow, and enduring any other frozen precip.). Oh, I own a warm coat, but I usually don’t get it on before I leave the house.

I’m such a hypocrite too because I make my kids wear that kind of stuff; they walk to school, I reason. Although it’s almost torture getting the bulky stuff on them every morning. Not wanting to bundle up could be a kid thing. Maybe it’s genetic. One thing is for sure – there is a lot of this non-bundling up going on out here. Heck, I frequently see people walking around in shorts or Capri pants no matter what the temperature is (regardless if snow is falling). Socks are optional. Flops, even in winter, are the favored footwear. Which is crazy because it’s not like it’s warm around here ever (July, August, and September are the exceptions).

But we are a rebellious people who don’t care what people think about our fashion sense. Once my family went for a visit to the Bay area to stay with Selene and Gracie for a few days. While there, we spent one of our afternoons at the beach over near the Golden Gate and Alcatraz. It was 58 degrees that day, and our children were running around in their bikinis and playing in the sand and water. I noticed as Selene and I were watching our kids run around and have fun that the passer-byers were practically shivering. All were bundled in polar fleece type garments, scarves, hats, etc. A few were wearing ear muffs. Those passer-by-ers looked at us with puzzled looks too - as if we were crazy for letting our kids run around with only swimsuits for clothes.

Hey people, it’s chilly here most of the year; we get used to it. We even cope. It rains most of the time here too, and I don’t use an umbrella very often either. Umbrella usage is reserved for extended outdoor activities in highly stormy conditions. Otherwise, we all just walk around with or hoods up - or we are simply content to have wet locks.

Other random thoughts:

Don’t you hate being the next person who has to use the one toilet bathroom after someone deposits a stinky odor in that tiny space? Selene – you know what I’m talking about. Anyway, the staff bathroom here is a one-toilet locked door model (almost the indoor equivalent of a port-o-potty), and every time I have to use it, I am forced to plug my nose. The worse part is that when I walk out of the bathroom and someone is waiting to use it, I feel compelled to say, “It stunk before I went in there.” But I never do. And it’s funny that I would even feel that compulsion. Is there anyone out there who doesn’t have stinky crap? Sure, I’d like to think it comes out smelling special, but it always stinks. Always. Don’t think you’re improving the bathroom-air-environment any by being a vegetarian either. Cows are vegetarians, and their gas is depleting the ozone layer.

Damn Ovaries!

All men and other squeamish people, avert your eyes. You don’t want to be reading about my female problems. Really you don’t. But I want to talk about them, and since this is my space, I will.

So I went to the gynecologist the yesterday (men, if you are still reading this, you really don’t have a comparison experience. You think you do, but you don’t. Try having a conversation with a woman while she has a finger stuck up your penis and your ass. Yeah, it’s not a pleasant image, is it?). Since my periods have been heavy and erratic (and since Poetroad will not do the deed with me when I am bleeding – it’s rather traumatizing for him, really), I had to do something. Of late, my periods are lasting a full two weeks (and sometimes I will have another little period in the three week off time). A full two weeks without sex is pure torture. Yes, I am spoiled because I get to have a lot of sex otherwise.

The great news is that there aren’t any overtly physical indications for my symptoms – this means there are no fibroids and that it’s probably not cancer or endometriosis. The bad news is that due to the lack of physical evidence, it means my ovaries are just not working correctly.

In order to fix the bleeding problem (and I might add here that Poetroad suggested I am now very Biblical since my problem sounds very similar to the woman’s problem who reached out to touch the hem of our Lord’s garment in order to be healed; that’s a very pastorly response), I have three options: option one, do nothing and bleed most of the month; option two, have a surgical procedure done in which the lining of my uterus is basically scraped away to prevent me from ever having a period again; and option three, start taking birth control pills in order to get my progesterone levels up to counter the excess estrogen in my system which stimulates my uterus to excessively line it’s walls each month.

None of the three options sound like fun. Doing nothing means I bleed all the time. Having a surgery means that I would have to “go under” with anethstisia (and if I am going to have any surgery that requires total anesthesia, I want to wake up with slimmer hips and bigger boobs). Taking the pill means that I have to, well, take a pill every day. I am not a good pill taker.

The hilarious thing about option three is that I had a tubal ligation after my last birth in order to avoid having to worry about birth control ever again. It is highly ironic that a very viable option to control the bleeding would be that I may have to take birth control pills to control a uterus that, quite frankly, will never house a baby again.

I laughed out loud with my doctor at that thought.

My gynecologist is lucky I like him. Not that my non-working ovaries are his fault, but when people go to doctors, they want easy answers. And it was probably nice for a change for him to not have to tell a woman that she needs a total hysterectomy or that she has cancer. It was nice that we could sit there, me with my nakedness covered with a sheet, and him with his young looking face, dyed hair (except for the white side burns – not sure what that look is all about), and quiet, matter of fact tone, laughing about all of this.

All in all, I definitely have some serious thinking to do.

When Harry met Suzie...

Wouldn’t you know it – I took a quick jaunt to the store this morning to replenish our milk supply, and I ran into a guy I went to high school with – Lan Darkin. Of course I hadn’t showered, but at least I had the good sense to put on a bra before I went out. Anyway, Lan was a friend of a neighbor/friend I had when I was in high school – Harold Dawkins.

At the store this morning, Lan said, “Hey, I had lunch with Harold a few weeks ago, and your name came up.”

“Oh really?” I choked. “Well, I’d better be going.”

Harold, the star tennis player and ASB President, apparently had a crush on me when we were in high school. I hung out with Harold, I jogged with Harold, I got a ride to school with Harold, I went out to the movies with Harold. I never kissed or held hands or did anything romantical with Harold. At the time, I never knew Harold was pining away for me just a few houses away. I didn’t find this out until ten years later at the class reunion. How did I find out? It went a little something like this:

Harold: This is my wife, Suzie.

Me: Oh, hi, Suzie! It’s so nice to meet you. Harold and I were such great friends in high school. You have a fine husband.

Harold: Suzie, this is Blue Sugarpoet.

Suzie: Blue Sugarpoet? The infamous Blue Sugarpoet?

Me: Uh, I guess so. Yep, that’s me!

Suzie: Finally, I meet the infamous Blue Sugarpoet. I hope I never hear your name in my house again.

What followed was some awkward chitchat about I don’t know what (although I think it included tales of how I smashed Harold’s heart in the mud and spit on it). I laughed pleasantly, and got the heck out of Suzie’s vicinity and her evil eye. I think I might have parted with nervous laughter and, “Really? I had no idea. Well, lucky you – you have him now!”

So I never asked Lan what was said. It’s a little sad that Harold has such terrible memories of our friendship – it’s sadder that I was apparently involved in some sort of relationship that I didn’t know about. Had I known, I would have had the sense to get a little lip action.

And was anyone surprised about the neurosis? I didn't think so...

You are Schroeder!

Scabies

I can't believe I didn't blog about this last Friday - maybe it was because I was a little traumatized about the whole idea of it. I have a student who I was supposed to meet with that was a no-show. I found out through office gossip that this student didn't show because she was battling a bad case of the scabies.

Uh, excuse me, but my mind was virgin to scabies. I wish I still had my innocence regarding that...

So the office people gave me the disgusting low down regarding these apparently horney and disgusting bugs, and I wish I had never asked. Selene - please do not Google what these creatures are. You are thinking that you are curious because they are bugs, and hey, you've almost conquered that spider fear. If you ever want to sleep in a hotel again, just don't. Ignorance is much better regarding this issue. Trust me.

Anyway, the best part of this story is that the "IT" guy at my work (no, not the office hottie; the "Information & Technology" guy) came over to my computer and said, "Here, let me show you."

It was like a slow motion disaster...I spun my chair around, and not quickly enough, to find him Googling "Scabies" under the "IMAGE" search. Go ahead. Do that now. See what comes up. One caution: use your home computer, as the images that appear are not the kind that family business will deem appropriate.

That's right: right there on my school computer were visions of the favorite places where these bugs like to hide - in the genitalia. Now if I'm looking at genitalia, I don't want to see seven kinds of nasty on said body parts. I particularly do not want to see this at work. I particularly do not want an electronic record that an image search on my school computer included one where penises and breasts are featured. Nice. Thanks IT guy

akoljdo;rfioawerj

Did I mention that next term I will be teaching a course out at the local private college? Nothing big - Writing 123 (aka "The Research Paper"). I think I'll be paid in pigs and chickens. But I'm not really doing this for the money (if I were doing anything for the money, I'd want it to take a lot less time and be a lot more enjoyable).

Anyway, I should feel more excited and happy about this opportunity. Instead, I feel really scared. It's not that I'm afraid to do the job because I know I could teach that course in my sleep. The fact is that if I pursue a college professor career - as I have always wanted to do - at some point I'll have to also pursue that Doctorate degree. Have you looked at what it takes to get a doctorate in English or Humanities lately?

Tackling the course work does not scare me...the "being proficient" in one or more languages - to the degree of being able to translate passages in works in said language - does. The fact is, I only have a working knowledge of Spanish. I would be expected to know French or German (I might be able to squeeze by with Latin) to the "proficient" degree. I find "translating" very difficult. It's hard for me to transpose from Spanish to English and catch everything. I don't know if I would do much better with written work. Bahhhhhhhh!

Or I could simply choose to be an adjunct for pennies for the rest of my life.

"Please, Sir, I want some more [porridge]."

The Game

Lining the street like eager children waiting to scurry into it and gather up the candy tossed at a parade, so the craftsman style houses and cape-cod bungalows seemed to stand lit up in the regalia of the season. Fresh-cut limbs shaped into wreaths adorned the doors with more limbs and velvety ribbons carefully wrapped around porch railings. Inside, candles, garlands of popcorn and cranberries, and sparkly glass ornaments decorated the freshly-cut-from-the-forest evergreen trees. It was the Christmas season of 1938.

But shouts of glee and laughter – the chatter of happy children and families - were nowhere to be heard that damp dark evening; the streets chilled with an unusual quiet.

I gathered the children around me – none of my own; these were the few from the nearby neighborhood who had hidden well when the soldiers came and emptied their homes. Eight or ten little survivors in all, I pulled them close. “Children,” I whispered, “let’s play a game.” I looked into the round, frightened eyes of each child, and touched a pale cheek or patted a head in an effort to give what little comfort I could as I spoke. There they stood tired and weary looking in their long worn wool coats with bare hands sticking out from the sleeves. I couldn’t linger any longer.

“We are the hiders and they are the seekers, but instead of each of us finding our own hiding spot, we will hide all together. It is very important for you to be quiet – don’t make a sound. No matter what happens, be brave. Listen to what I say children – not a sound, and follow me.”

The truth was, I didn’t know where we were going. We couldn’t stay. If we stayed, that meant certain death for all of us. All I knew is that we had to make our way out of the city. Like mice scurrying into hiding when caught scavenging for food in the darkness, so we moved down the street in the shadows as we were hungry to find safety in the night.

“Halt!” From what we hoped was far down the street, a shout pierced the silence of the shadows. I whispered, “Remember the game, children! Quickly and quietly!”

Not wasting a second to look behind me and judge the distance between the soldiers and us, I looked only ahead and by chance (or fate) recognized a familiar house. “Look, children,” I directed in low tones. “The white house to your left. Don’t stop to knock. Go right in and out through the French doors to the back yard. Make your way to back of the big pine tree.”

To our fortune, although no one was home, the door was not locked just as I prayed it would not be. I made a mental note that unlocked doors would not be a part of life in the near future, but I would keep my door unlocked just in case someone again needed refuge.

Quickly we slipped into the house and out to the other side. Just as we were making our way up the hidden steps at the back of the tree, the soldiers burst through the front door of the house. It took us mere seconds to get up the tree and rest in that darkness. Deeply hidden there, we could not be seen.

For many years, I cried in shame over my loss of innocence in that tree. I was eleven. Tommy was fifteen. My brothers and I used to play with Tommy in the wooded acres between our neighborhoods – I was always tagging along when they went to catch salamanders or to throw rocks into the creek. Then one day Tommy wanted to show me his secret hiding place in the tree behind his house. The branches were large enough to hold a box of wood three meters across, and the pine needles on the branches were long and dense enough as to hide that box.

I never told, and I never played with Tommy again.

Where once I cursed his street and his house and his tree and his hidden box, the thought that lost innocence would be the tender for salvation of these few somehow made me smile. My heart was still heavy, but it felt different.

“Quietly, children. Not a word. You’ve played this game with mastery – such good little players. Won’t your friends be jealous when they learn how well you’ve mastered the game?”

From the darkness in the box in the tree, without a sound the children and I peered out at the small group of soldiers. These were not men hardened and broken by hatred as I had imagined them to be. Instead, they were nearly children themselves. One boy didn’t look a day over fifteen – maybe fourteen. Another was a little taller – he couldn’t have possibly been older than sixteen. All of their uniforms fit long and bulky – as if they were playing dress up with the clothes found in daddy’s closet. Rifles hung from their shoulders with ease – not the typical care or decorum taken by a seasoned soldier with his firearm.

For a few minutes, they poked around in the back yard, and then the lot of them – four or five (it was difficult to tell in the darkness) – gravitated toward a large pile of wood chips on the other side of the yard. I couldn’t guess why the pile of wood chips was there or how it came into being, but I didn’t care about the origin. It was a distraction for the young soldiers.

First, one scooped up a handful of the chips and threw them at an older boy. Another joined in on the assault. Pretty soon, they all cast their rifles aside and flung themselves into the serious play of wood chip throwing. Pushing, shoving, rolling in the wood chips had them thoroughly occupied.

I took advantage of that moment to begin lowering the children to the safety of the yard behind Tommy’s house.


I don’t know what happened next – that’s when I woke up suddenly. Put that in your Freud pipe and smoke it! These are the very real and crazy type of dreams I have.

I'm not sure I've ever filled out one of these...

That's right - I've been sent hundreds of these survey thingies from different people. I usually read it, leave it in my "in" box for weeks, and eventually delete the darned thing. At first I whole heartedly intend to fill out the survey and send it to all five of my friends, but then time gets away from me and I think, "I can't send that out now - it's been three weeks since I recieved it." [Side note: I still have an e-mail from a friend in my "in" box that I recieved almost two years ago. I still haven't responded for no particular reason. Yes, I will be late to my own funeral. No lectures, please.] Why am I posting this survey now? That's a great question. I don't know. Perhaps it goes with my new "leaving mediocrity" policy. Whatever. But here it is anyway.

1.WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR KITCHEN PLATES? Which plates? I have many sets of plates. I would like to get a set of bright aqua and a set of bright red plates.
2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? I am in the middle of several books: Crossings, Captivating, Solitaire Mystery, Loving God with All Your Mind. On the side, I am re-reading German Ideology and Metamorphosis by Kafka.
3. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? I don’t have a mouse pad.
4. FAVORITE BOARD GAME? Scrabble – I also like Apples to Apples
5.FAVORITE SMELLS? Coffee, evergreen trees, Truth (my favorite perfume that CK no longer makes), fresh cut roses, lilies, fresh cut lavender, the nape of Poetroad’s neck, a horse barn, a pile of soggy leaves, a newborn baby’s head.
6. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING? “What time is it? Wait a minute – is it the morning or is it still the middle of the night?”
7. FAVORITE COLOR: I can’t pick just one. Black, pink, green, brown
8. LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: I am hard pressed to find a color that I don’t like. I wouldn’t wear burnt orange, but I love the way it looks on leaves.
9. HOW MANY RINGS UNTIL YOU ANSWER THE PHONE? It depends on where I am in the house…it takes as many rings as it takes for me to run across the house to get it.
10. FAVORITE CHILD'S NAME? My names of my daughters are my favorite – but there are two other favorites that I didn’t get to use: Carlie for a girl and Jesse for a boy.
11. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Chocolate
12. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST? Always
13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? Only if Poetroad eats a big meal before he gets into bed with me.
14. DO YOU LIKE THUNDERSTORMS? I LOVE them!
15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? 1965 Mustang. Some day, I will get another one; it’s my all time favorite car. I have a strange and almost inappropriate attraction to Mustangs.
16. WHAT IS YOUR SIGN? “Will work for food” in crayon on tattered cardboard.
17. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? Yeah
18. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB WHAT WOULD IT BE? A professional people watcher.
19. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY COLOR HAIR, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Brown with highlights.
20. IS THE GLASS HALF FULL OR HALF EMPTY? What glass? I don’t see a glass. I don’t care if it is full or empty as long as it is clean. I don’t really like to drink from glasses. I prefer plastic cups, really, and they are always half full in my house because I take a drink, walk away, forget where I put it or that I even drank from it, and then the process starts all over again until I run out of cups in my cupboard.
21. FAVORITE MOVIE? UHF, Princess Bride, Better Off Dead, Singing in the Rain, LOTR...to name a few
22. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? I always do – except for with that top line with the numbers.
23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? My wedding dress (specially packaged at a bridal shop to preserve the dress), scrap-booking stuff, a few Christmas presents for my kids, and more.
24. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Football and soccer – although I am a recent golf-watcher convert.
25. YOUR SINGLE BIGGEST INTENSE PAIN? Post c-section recovery pain. I would roll out of my bed when I had to get up, and then curse up a blue streak until I could maneuver my body parts back into bed.
26. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND: No one, because I won’t send it.
27. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Everyone that I don’t send this to
28. KETCHUP OR MUSTARD? I love mustard
29. HAMBURGER OR HOT DOG? Burger
30. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON? Fall
31. THE BEST PLACES YOU HAVE EVER BEEN? The Oregon Coast
32. WHAT SCREEN SAVER IS ON YOUR COMPUTER RIGHT NOW? Pictures of my family.
33. FAVORITE FAST FOOD? Do doughnuts count as fast food? If I buy fast food (which is a rarity), it’s Papa John’s pizza.
34. WHAT IS YOUR BIRTH NAME? I won't say, but my maiden name is something quite Scottish.

Bah

I have been on a vacation from myself and from thinking. New posts to follow soon...

P.S. Remember the door-to-door salesman who sold me the magazine subscription - you know, the one who had the sales pitch that sounded much like the one the door-to-door salesman gives in Office Space? Well, Tim (that is the guy's name) followed through. I got my first issue of "Better Homes and Gardens" last month.

my fun filled weekend

Lucky for you, I haven’t talked enough about barf lately. But stomach flu season is here, and I have been battling this round since Saturday. (Did I barf? C’mon, you know me better than that! My stomach doesn’t even know that’s an option.)

Anyway, last night, KC woke up in the middle of the night and barfed (that seems about right; always the barfing, always at night). Lucky for me, Poetroad got to watch – and clean up – the show while I lay in bed trying not to feel sick.

So today, Poetroad had to stay home and take care of all of us. He is such a trooper. I’m just a pooper.

i chose the one less traveled by

This was waaaay coool! It kinda hurt at the time, but the surrealness of it all made me think, "Wow, I can't believe I'm doing this!"

So I was cleaning my new piercing this morning (I know, I know, you guys have seen the pics and are getting bored with my crazy schemes already), and I was really concentrating on removing the crusties on the inside of my nose. Yes, it was disgusting, but I liked having a reason to pick my nose.

Anyway, back to my story...I am picking out crusties, and next thing I know, the piercing disappeared into my nose. As I stared at myself in disbelief, I thought, "Whoa, Mamma! What do I do now!???" There were two obvious solutions to my dilemma: push up from the bottom until the top of the stud shows again, or keep on pulling until the darned thing comes out all the way through the inside of my nose.

My first reaction was to push the stud back out the top; after all, it couldn't have wandered too far away. Then I decided to gauge by sensation whether the top of the stud was closer to the top of my nose or whether it was almost out through the bottom anyway. The fact is, I had no friggin' idea how either sensation might feel because I, well, have never been in this particular predicament before!

But when two paths diverge in the woods, you can't stand there staring at the trees all day. I hastily chose the total extraction through the inside of my nose path.

Turns out, this path was the painful path. I had gauged wrong - there was much more stud in there than I estimated.

The good news is that the stud easily, and painlessly, popped right back into its proper holding pattern.

Holy cannolies. Just as I mentioned, the entire experience was a little cool now that I look back on my morning, but should I find myself in this predicament again, remind me to just push up.

more piercing Pics

There was just a little blood, and I got a piece of candy (at the bottom of one of the pics) because I had to be pierced twice.

Weekend Fun

What am I, fifteen years old?!!! I went away to a ladies retreat last weekend (you know, the churchy type), and came home with more than new spiritual eyes. But let's talk about that later. I GOT MY NOSE PIERCED!!!!

I suppose some might think that it was because of the peer pressure from the fresh-out-of-college girls I was hanging out with that made me do it, but actually I've wanted to pierce my nose for the past ten years or so. Finally, it just seemed like the right time to get it done. Two of the four of my roommates for the weekend had a cute nose piercing, and when one of them suggested, "You should get yours done tomorrow. Do you want to?" I said, "yes" without hesitation.

Of course I called Poetroad the next morning to clear my plans with him. Of course he said, "No way. No, that's not a good idea. No, I don't like that idea at all." And like a good wife, I replied, "Honey, if the answer is no, then I won't do it. Love you; have a great day!"

Less then a minute later he called me back and said, "Ahhh, go ahead. Have fun with your friends, you wild child, you." (I found out later that as soon as he hung up the phone he got to thinking how sexy a nose piercing would look on me....)

Not to far away from our hotel we found a little, but sterile, tattoo/piercing parlor along the highway in that small costal town. The actual piercing was pretty uneventful - except for she had to do mine twice because something happened with the threading of the jewelry through the hole the first time. And I bled a lot. But neither piercing hurt really. It was kind of fun, in fact.

The best part about this story is that when I went into work the next day, NOT ONE PERSON NOTICED! None. No one. That's what I get for working in alternative education, I guess. They probably thought that my nose had been pierced all along.

ten things i did this week

1. Wore perfume to work and was almost caught by bertha...luckily it wasn't me - it was another lady who put on some stinky lotion. That was a close one. I'll have to update you my plan on avoiding changing my daily hygiene routine for bertha.

2. Had a phone conversation at work that I knew people were eavesdropping in from the other side of the cubicle. I needed to update said eavesdropper on the conversation, so instead of sending an e-mail, I outed her by yelling, "Did ya hear my conversation? Cause you need to know what's going on." I did that no less than twice.

3. paperworkpaperworkpaperwork

4. avoided some paperwork

5. ran around like a chicken with my head cut off

6. got a new set of tires for the familymobile

7. vet stuff for the dog - twice...it's a long story

8. avoided two trips to the doctor's office (one for the baby, one for myself) by "waiting it out"

9. and i was even able to squeeze in a few nice to very nice sessions with poetroad

10. packed for the trip to the coast i am taking this weekend

Be back on Sunday!

nanowrimo

November is "National Novel Writing Month." The idea is that every aspiring, uninspiring, perspiring, or whatever writer will write so many words a day, and then by the end of the month he or she will have written a novel of 10,000 words. Or something to that effect.

Last year, Selene and I committed to the adventure with PJD. I wrote a page, Selene wrote a few chapters, and PJD actually finished his work. This year, I actually have an idea for a novel, so I am planning on tackling this project again. I wouldn't go so far to say that it's a good idea, but, hey, it's an idea.

So are you in or out?

Suspicions Confirmed

You're a Freaky Kisser

When you kiss, you want to experience something new A new technique, a new partner, a new piercing... And your own personal kissing style is very unpredictable There's no saying where your tongue or hands will go

What Kind of Kisser Are You?

Freaky, huh. I always suspected as much, but now I have the test to prove it. A girlfriend of mine once asked if I would be interested in making out with her. I told her "no" - not because I wasn't interested, but because I don't really see the point of making out if it doesn't lead to sex. And, although she is sexy, I just didn’t want to go there with a girl. But if I ever decide to switch teams, she would be my first go to girl.

Trick O' Treat

I am still recovering from lack of sleep and a sugar hangover this morning, but I was able to stagger to my computer and sit long enough to download a few photos. In the trio pic, the girl on the far left is our neighbor. The other two girls are my oldest two. One is dressed as Padme from the "Reunion with Anakin" scene in Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones. Daughter 2 is a cheetah princess. Below that is a pic of the whole princess crew. Darling!

I stayed up until 3 or 4 am sewing the costumes for the older two girls. Crazy, I know, but the results were stupendous. What's really crazy is that I know all year long that I will be making a costume for Halloween for at least one of my girls, yet I wait until the day before to begin working on them every year!

It's true, it's true...

And you thought that I was joking about the porn-pod idea? Check out the link and read the article to find out who is on - and off - the bandwagon with portable porn. Unbelievable.

When Poetroad and I saw a news story on the 11 o'clock local last night regarding this, he screamed, "I told you! I told you! I could be someone's marketing genius!"

Poetroad, you are brilliant, but it takes a genius to figure out that guys like porn?

okay, then

Clearly I've been milking my last post for all it is worth, and that isn't worth much. I have no excuses. I suck.

But I have been thinking about writing...does that count? Plus, I don't have anything witty to say, and I don't feel like being serious.

Denial is such a nice place to be.

Action Pants

I am not really a fan of the elastic-comfort-waistband on trousers, but I must admit that there are some benefits to owning a pair of low-fashion high-function pants. The elastic-waistband pants, also known as “Action Pants,” are the less frumpy essential in the wardrobe of the guy or gal who wants to be ready for any kind of activity in a flash.

At this day and age, there is stuff to be done, and we need to have clothing that will facilitate such activity. You certainly don’t want to waste your precious time fumbling with bulky buttons and sticky zippers. Need to dash to the restroom to take a big dump? Action Pants are there for you. Running home at lunchtime to get a quickie in with the wife or significant other? Action Pants at your service. Going out after work to the buffet and then meeting the boys later for drinks? Only the Action Pants waistband will comfortably allow for such gluttony.

Different than “Mom-jeans,” true Action Pants CANNOT be fabricated from any type of denim fabric. In fact, if you own any type of denim pants with any length of elastic in the waistband, please go now and douse those dork jeans with gasoline and throw a match on them. Crisis averted.

So what are acceptable Action Pants? Some Action Pants closely resemble the more casual brother, “Sweatpants,” and are made of sturdy nylon or cotton fabric. Fall and winter Action Pants can be lined to encourage leg warmth during the cooler months. Spring and summer models are usually light and breezy and can be fashioned from nylon, light cotton, or linen fabric. Whatever the fabric choice, however, the true mark of Action Pants is that they have the modality to be worn on casual Friday at the office and to the Softball game later that night. You might have even referred to the pair in your wardrobe as the “Dressy Sweats.”

While it is true that Action Pants are a long loved and utilized companion of the geriatric crowd, you need not own a stash of Adult Diapers to enjoy the benefits of Action Pants. Friday is almost here; folks…run to your closets now and shake the wrinkles out of your well-loved pants. I know for years you’ve worn them at home and in the dark in shame, but I am here now to liberate you and your pants.

Know Action Pants. Wear Action Pants. Love Action Pants. Be free.

and I forgot to say...

I got the book last week, Mimi! Thanks a ton! I haven't had too much time to read, but it is a good read so far.

Mondays Suck

Not only is it a Monday (Mondays hardly ever fare well), but I had to report suspected child abuse today. Even if there is a teensy inkling that something isn't quite right, I am required by law to report because of my profession. This isn't the first time I've had to report; it's the all too explicit essay that does it every time. I never like reporting. Fill out twenty forms, sign in blood, leave a urine sample, etc. Well, I am exaggerating a little, but that's how I feel about the whole process.

Today I wish I had a different profession - such as a hooker.

Here I am!

I haven't really been on a vacation...by any means. Actually, I've been swamped with work. Grading, grading, grading. Bleck [insert life-like gagging sound here, followed by the imagined "vomit hitting toilet water" sound here]. It's the bane of a teacher's existence.

I've also been preoccupied with my daughter's soccer team. I mentioned before that I used to play and coach soccer, right? Well, after watching a few practices and the first game for my nine-year-old's team, I offered my coaching services for one practice a week.

How exactly did that happen? A very nice, best-of-intentions couple had actually volunteered to coach the team (for which I am grateful since I just cannot commit to coaching at this point in my life - too many kids, too much work, puppy training, etc.). Admittedly, neither had ever played the game nor knew anything regarding the rules or strategy of the game. They read some coaching books and watched coaching videos, but "coaching research" just can't replace the knowledge garnered through actually playing the game. It physically hurt to watch practices. Games were disastrous. The kids were spending more time eating snacks and chatting in group meetings than touching the ball. Seriously. I wish I were exaggerating about this fact.

I told myself that I wouldn't get involved - these volunteer coaches are adults; let them figure it out. Then to avoid the situation altogether, I stopped staying through practices. Watching a practice unfold was worse than watching a train wreak - it was more like watching people jump from one hundred stories up and plummet into the cement in front of me. So after my husband stayed through one practice, he urged me to get involved "for the sake of the children." Of course I couldn't stay quiet. I didn't want to step on any toes, so I cautiously offered to "help out." The coaches were all over that and then some.

When I showed up the first Monday, I said, "Okay coach, what do you have planned today?" His reply: "I don't know. I was waiting to see what you had planned." Now I run the practices every Monday.

And then last Friday the coach called and asked if I could cover for him for a week as he would be out of town. "No problem," I said. To make a long story short, we won our first game on Saturday. The score was 5-1.

I am missing you all, my friends!

New technology?

A new product is soon to hit the stores, and, guys, it is a must have…assuming you are into those techno gadgets. It’s the new and improved i-pod that…no lie…has video capabilities. Here’s how the conversation went when Poetroad and I discussed the possibility that he would throw down a chunk of change for this gadget:

It has something like a two-inch screen? Are you really telling me that you would watch a video on a two-inch screen?

Yes. It plays video.

I know it plays video, but you have a laptop with a 17-inch monitor. You can watch videos on that.

It plays video.

What can you watch on an i-pod that you can’t watch on your computer?

Well you know what a lot of guys will be watching on it…

What, porn? Like at work? Portable porn?

I’m just saying…it’s a cool gadget. Guys like gadgets.

Great. Introducing the new “porn-pod.”

So much to blog, so little time

Today is a statewide in-service day, and for teachers this means that the morning must be dedicated to some sort of professional development. Most teachers are somewhere in the first leg of some marathon lecture where they are sitting in a butt-numbing seat, sipping a crappy cup of coffee, and noshing on a cold, stale cinnamon roll.

I, however, being the clever girl that I am, have arranged it so I could work from home. In fact, my boss’s exact words were, “You could work from Tahiti on Friday for all I care.” So either he really likes me, or he wishes I could be relocated somewhere far, far away.

Anyway, I got to write my own “professional development plan” for today, and my focus for the day is “curriculum development.” I had this idea that I would create a number of class discussion blogs for each course, and in order to do that effectively I would first need to put in some “research” time.

That’s right, folks, I will be spending my entire day blogging, and the state will be paying for it. Sheer genius.

So hopefully I will be able to make a few posts and post a comment or two on some blogs maintained by the rest of you yahoos doing what you can to avoid work today. Happy blogging!

I forgot to mention...

I saw Gracie at the wedding too. Doesn't she look oh so mischievious?

"This is what it sounds like when the doves cry..."

Actually, they were homing pigeons, but I don't know any catchy lyrics with the words "homing pigeons" in it. Funny thing about the birds; as the ceremony was nearing the end, those little buggers were getting restless in their basket. The cooing almost drown out the ceremony from where I stood. But the birds bursting from the basket and circling in the sky looked really cool when the couple was introduced as Mr. and Mrs. for the first time.

The Weekend

The weekend went by way too quickly... I loved Gracie's gift and enjoyed every minute of my visit with my best pal! Here we are at the wedding (and the wedding was beautiful, btw).

Nothin' to see here, people

If you're here looking for pictures of naked people, you've followed the wrong link. Sorry to disappoint. Move along.

T minus 24

My favorite MLT star will be in town tomorrow, and I am psyched! Can't wait to see you queenie poo!

Dirty, sooo dirty

Who would have thought that Monday Night Football would have been so entertaining? It was the Brett Favre show all the way! I don’t even really like Favre or the Packers, but he covered the spread, and that’s all I care. Although I have to admit that what he pulled off last night took skill, and I’ve got to commend Favre for that. I still won’t say “Go Packers!” That’s just wrong. So all in all, looks like Champ is about even – 7 and 7.

This just in, Denise Richards (of the Charlie Sheen kind) also has the fear of vomiting. Who would have thought we would have had anything in common.

I haven’t had a chance to give the low down on KC’s soccer game last Saturday. It was a little strange. She is in fourth grade now, so I guess that takes it up a notch as far as intensity goes. Oh, her team wasn’t intense – it was the coach from the other team. And our coaches don’t know anything about soccer…no, they really don’t by their own admission. But I was good. I didn’t say much – until Saturday at the game. I helped the coach put in the subs. He had no clue. Literally. I have more to say on this at a later time.

Perhaps the biggest news is in regard to an external link to my blog that I noticed yesterday. This is unbelievable, I know, but very true. With the sleuthing expertise of Gracie, we tracked the source to a gay talk show. By gay, I don’t mean stupid. I mean that the host is a transvestite that enjoys having sex with other men. Somehow or another a link to one of my posts appeared on the podcast show notes. Of course I downloaded the podcast to hear why in the world the guy/girl would be interested in my blog. All I knew is that the link was in reference to the Jesse Ventura post.

When it came time for the show host to talk about Ventura, the host started reading my post. He got a line or two into the post, and then you could hear his tech guy in the background say, “Uh, that’s just a blog. The link is in reference to the picture.” The host did inadvertently say the title of the post a few more times, though, and that got some laughs (Entertainment, poop, and other drivel).

It was exciting and nasty at the same time. Why couldn’t he like me for my writing (even though I’ve produced nothing short of crap of late)? I feel so dirty.

Without a second to spare

This week, I employed a new “pick” strategy. Instead of relying on woman’s intuition this week, I’m relying on intuition of the canine sort; after all, Champion (my dog) should know a fellow Champion when he smells one.

It took me a while to figure out how exactly I would get Champ’s full cooperation (at almost six months old, he is still a wiggly and excitable Springer Spaniel puppy). In the end, I have to say that I’m fairly pleased with the results. Here’s how I ran the experiment, ehm, picks:

I found these very old-school coasters (you know, the kind with cork backing that drinks are placed on in order to avoid that ugly water stain on the furniture). Just my luck, there was a coaster for each team. Sans the assistance of meat spray or cheese rubbings, I tossed out the two coasters simultaneously. The coaster Champ retrieved indicated the winning team for the week.

Buffalo vs. New Orleans – I don’t know what it is about the Bills Champ likes; lord knows their mascot is weak. Maybe he was getting a bad vibe from the hurricane victim team. BILLS

San Diego (+5.5) @ New England – Either it’s the colors he finds aversive or my dog secretly swings a little to the left. Champ just doesn’t like the Patriots. CHARGERS



Seattle (+2) @ Washington – I was a little worried when Champ first picked up the Skins coaster at first. As luck would have it, he took the coaster to his favorite pooping spot, took a dump, and then proceeded to fetch the Seahawk coaster. SEAHAWKS

St. Louis (+3) @ New York Giants – Is this a trend? Champ is either against the east coast teams or he doesn’t like patriotic colors (why aren’t the Giants green? Aren’t giants green? Or am I thinking of ogres? Now that would be a scary mascot – the Ogres.) Champ likes the RAMS.

Denver (+4) @ Jacksonville - Another sweaty moment at our household. As you know, Denver is the house team. There was speculation that Champ would prefer Jacksonville, but after a moment’s hesitation, Champ knew to pick the team of the Alpha male. BRONCOS

Detroit (+7) @ Tampa Bay – I have to admit that my dog is still a little bit nervous, and that may be why he went against the lion and chose the BUCS.

Houston (+10) @ Cincinnati – What do I know? He doesn’t like lions, but Champ favors the BENGALS.

Indianapolis (-6.5) @ Tennessee – There is something non-threatening about a nice horse that Champ loves – this may be why he was for the Broncos too. COLTS

NY Jets (+7.5) @ Baltimore – Awwwww – bucking the “against the East” trend, Champ was all over the JETS.

Dallas (+3) @ Oakland – Get along little doggies? Apparently this dog is not the herding sort. Champ loves the RAIDERS.

Minnesota (+5.5) @ Atlanta – The Atlanta coaster was looking a little scary to me, but apparently it had the right smell. FALCONS

Philly (+2.5) @ Kansas City – Do I detect a bird trend? Well, Champ is a bird dog. EAGLES

San Fran (+3) vs. Arizona - Sorry Cards, a little red bird is not the kind my dog likes to fetch. 49ERS

Green Bay (+7) @ Carolina – I don’t like the PACKERS – not one little bit. But Champ loves them. Could it be that he could smell the cheese heads on the other side of the country? PACKERS

There they are. Let’s hope Champ’s intuition fares better than mine.

Entertainment, poop, and other drivel

Speaking of WWE, what is wrong with Jesse, “The Body,” Ventura these days? Did anyone see his interview yesterday? Nice fu manchu look, Jesse. The double braided beard thing is really working for you.

Apparently, formerly “The Body” and formerly “The Gov” is looking to relocate out of the country. He says something to the effect that, “I find that I have more freedom in other countries.”

Yeah, like the freedom to sport the fu manchu. Please. Take it elsewhere.

Is it because of Minnesota that he is so irrevocably messed up? Or was Ventura always this freaky?

I’ve got news for you Jesse, you’ve already re-located. It’s time for you to locate where you put that thing too…it’s called a brain; look for the pink squishy thing that can think.

As for my picks, well my dog wasn’t cooperating as I had hoped he would. Champ just doesn’t have the target command of some of those more expertly trained dogs. But you didn’t really want to hear my picks anyway, people. C’mon, who really wants to know what the housewife/teacher/married-sex-kitten thinks about who is going to win the game this weekend?

I do hope to get in some “stealth” blogging today, so hopefully I won’t be totally off the radar as I am most Mondays and Fridays. We will see.

Stupid Movie Faves

My all time favorite stupid movie? It's a toss-up between "Better off Dead" and Weird Al's "UHF." Of course "Uncle Buck" and "Princess Bride" are right up there, but I hate to don the moniker of "stupid movie" to either of those flicks. I don't have time this morning to list all that I like about each (though I'd like to mention that I once dated this drummer who looked and acted exactly like Stanley Spadowski). However, I will impart a few of my favorite lines from the top two:

"It has raisins in it. You like raisins."

"That's tentacles with an "n.""

"Look! I can't move my right arm!"

"Riiiiiiicky!"

"I'm thinking of something orange...it's and orange!"

"What's the matter!? Don't you like Bonanza!?"

"Mmm, this is good watermelon.........uhg...tastes like poop!"

"Hey mister, you got change?"

"It's TRUE, IT"S TRUE! I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME!"

"Pick up the phone, pick up the phone, pick up the phone...AHHHH...I'M IN HELL!"

"It's kinda hard to get a promotion around here when every other week you've got a new boss!"

"You just gotta run to the window and yell, "THESE FLOORS ARE DIRTY AS HELL AND I'M NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE!"

Hot Metal

Oh, taking a walk down memory lane...


Which reminds me, I had a class once that wanted to make a "no lycra" rule.
Thanks Mimi!

All About Breasts!

Apparently people from Mississippi and California want to know "all about breasts," and they are Yahoo searching that phrase and finding my blog.

Sorry, Miss, sorry, Cali, no breasts here. Well, I have them, but you don't want to see them.

I have four kids, and I nursed.

But if I decide to do the Brazilian, I might let you see that. Everything down there still looks fine to quite fine.

fun at work and other stuff

Mondays and Fridays are not good blogging days for me. Let's just say that my workplace is not a blog friendly place. Not only is my "space" a cubicle with two half-walls (not really a cubicle - more of a cubby), but the gal whose desk is twenty feet from mine is a nosy Nelly. Nelly has great distance vision; I know because she is regularly commenting on what site I'm on. "Oh, I see you are on Google over there." Thanks Nelly.

Next to her is Bertha. Bertha, a sturdy woman, has a number of issues. First, she has "chemical sensitivity." That means we can't wear hair spray or perfume, and we can't wash our hair with smelly shampoo either. Basically, we have to come to the office sweaty and ungroomed. Body smells apparently do not bother her.

Yesterday Bertha was having a "headache" brought on by a mystery substance, so of course I was giving her the third degree in regard to which substances bother her.

"What about deodorant. Can I wear deodorant?"

"Yes. Deodorant doesn't bother me."

"Lotion. Can I use hand lotion."

"Only if it is unscented. It can't have a strong smell."

"Is fabric softener okay? Can I use that on my clothes?"

"No, not if it has a strong perfume. Anything with a strong perfume gives me a headache."

"What about deodorant soap? Is that too strong of a smell?"

"Yes."

Then, like detectives, the six other people in that workspace and I tried to sleuth out the offending smell.

"I brought flowers today. Could it be the flowers?" came a yell from an unseen face at the other side of my cubby. "Are you allergic to pollen, Bertha?"

"Yes, but that's not it. For some reason, cut flowers don't
bother me."

"When did the headache start? What time? Who walked in the room prior to the headache. I opened a tube of lotion today, put a dab on, and then washed it off. Could the remnants of that smell be it?"

Finally, we decided that we would all make note of our morning routines and measure that to the headache/non-headache ratio. Aye, aye, aye. Going into the office is such a hassle.

Oh, and Bertha is our local union rep. too. A few weeks ago she mentioned that she wanted to chat with me about some union issues before I left for the day. I quipped, "Does the chat involve a club and a beating?"

Bertha wasn't really amused by that. I'm not sure why. Later that day I heard her whispering into her phone. If my house gets egged, I'm going to be suspicious.

*******************************************************************

Here's the verdict as far as my game picks go: 8 wins, 6 losses. Is that good? If so, it was beginner's luck. I did watch a lot of football on Sunday, and like the good wife that I am, I didn't ask a question about the game.

more signs

Three things for a dollar. Six things for a dollar. Free (not this chair).

Or so that's what the signs say.

A person who lives on some property that I frequently pass when I drive around town - and I say person because I'm not sure if it's a girl or boy (at least the gender can't be determined with even a hard stare on the drive by) - has a practically perpetual garage sale going on there. Mostly on the weekends, hundreds of boxes filled with stuff litter the front lawn. Recently, the sale has been raised to table height, tarped, and re-located to the backyard by the barn. At the end of the sale, there is always a pile of misceleneous items (lamps, desks, furniture, knick-knackish stuff) that lies prostrate at the foot of an old high chair. On the high chair sits a sign that reads, "Free (not this chair)." Sometimes only the sign and chair are there for days on end.

With shoulder-lengthed, stringy hair and daily wearing the same dingy shirt and dungarees that were once white and now are tinged with red earth stains, I was surprised one day when Poetroad and I drove by to see the person wearing what appeared to be a black prairie skirt.

"It's a girl," I said convinced. "She's wearing a skirt!"

"That's a kilt!" Poetroad retorted.

"A kilt?"

Lot's of signs, more questions, and no answers.

Girlie Picks

Not to be undone or outdone by any of the Manscapers over at the Wheelhouse, here are my picks as promised (I don’t know what that means exactly, but it seems to be the appropriate amount of Mantalk that should precede one of these things):


Atlanta (+3) @ Buffalo - Falcons I know what a falcon is and I know what a buffalo is, but what’s a “Bill”? What is that? Were they last in line when mascots were handed out on the day?

Carolina (-3.5) @ Miami - Panthers Panthers are cool, sleek, and sexy. Dolphins are the sea mammals on crack; they’re jumpy and they make funny noises. Plus, if dolphins are so smart, then why are they always getting caught in tuna nets?


Cincinnati (-3) @ Chicago - Bears First off, I’m not a fan of the orange uniform. I don’t personally look good in that color. Though I’m a fan of the original WKRP (Johnny Fever ROCKS; gotta love the Herb), is there anything else to like about Cinci?


Dallas (-6.5) @ San Francisco - 49ers I have nothing against Cowboys in general (I’ve dated my share), but if diamonds are a girls best friend, someone’s got to foot the bill. I’m going with the gold miners over the rootin’ tootin’ crowd.


Cleveland (+13.5) @ Indianapolis - Colts Again, I’m not a fan of the orange – even if it is a darker, poopier shade of orange. And “Browns” just sounds like a team that Sanitation workers from around the world could really get behind. Also, I’ve always loved horses, especially baby horses.

New Orleans (+3.5) @ Minnesota - Saints Although I’m betraying my own Nordic heritage, I have to go with the team that’s currently homeless. In the face of Katrina and now Rita, I’m sure the boys are tired of being senselessly beaten by a bunch of women.

Jacksonville (+3) @ NY Jets - Jags Even though I’ve seen West Side Story a hundred or more times (“When you’re a Jet…”), I’m going for the team that also has a sleek, sexy and fast mascot that can take me for a ride to the supermarket in style.

Oakland (+7.5) @ Philadelphia - Eagles People, haven’t we had enough of the looting in the aftermath of Katrina? Enough of the Raiding! Let’s fly.

New England (+3) @ Pittsburgh - Patriots Same thing here – I’m tired of all the Steeling! Let’s get behind the men and women who have done so much to make this country free for God fearing folks who may occasionally marry a cousin or two.

NY Giants (+5.5) @San Diego - Chargers I love eating the corn nibblets and sundry vegetables that Mr. Jolly Green farms, but the girls at EM love to shop more than they love to eat. Charging it takes my vote hands down.

Arizona (+6.5) @ Seattle - Seahawks Seahawks are big, goofy birds. Cardinals are little red birds. Seems like a Cardinal just would be an easy target for that much bigger bird. Since when do Cardinals live in Arizona? I’ve got to consult my Western Birds handbook on this one.

Tennessee (+6.5) @ St. Louis - Rams I’m going for the tough and cool animal that’s not afraid to but heads with the enemy.

Tampa Bay (-3.5) @ Green Bay - Buccaneers Wrap my cheese, slice my cheese, put my cheese in a pressurized can, but don’t Pack my cheese please. Besides, I really liked Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean – he’s hot. So in honor of my fantasy man, Orlando, I’m going for the Buccaneers.

Kansas City (+3) @ Denver - Broncos There is no other choice when the Broncos are playing – my husband told me so. He’s the slightly sober guy sporting the orange and blue face, a big “B” on his bare belly, and whipping a tee over his head while he does something akin to the hula. And folks, that’s just the pre-game prep. Die-hard doesn’t even begin to describe his fanaticism over the team.

catch phrase

I’m adding a new catch phrase to my “platform.” Okay, I’m neither a beauty queen nor a politician, but it’s nice to have a platform regardless in case I might need it some day.

Which brings me back to my platform catch phrase: options. I always want to have them. Options are good because without them I only have one choice.

Some people flat out don’t like “options” because having them can seem to undermine “faith.” I say it takes more faith to have options – a multi-directional plan means that you have to be ready to full on change directions at a moments notice. Opting for the unknown and dumping the current path mid-stream takes a tremendous amount of faith.

Also, options are good if what is going on right now seems to be spiraling down into the crapper. I would prefer to jump off that boat ride and avoid the final flush if at all possible – and having options gives me that alternative.

Yes, the “options” piece is going to really fit in nicely with the “Up with People” plan (you remember, “I am for people…whatever it is that works in the advancement of and for people, I am for it”). Options are definitely “pro-people.”

signs

Quite a few homeless people call this city home, and often a guy or a couple of people (sometimes with a dog and sometimes not) will stand on a busy corner and beg for change. Most often there is a sign crafted from tattered cardboard that reads “Will work for food, Veteran, no job, I’m hungry, anything will be appreciated, God Bless.”

One time I gave a guy a spare can of Spam I had in my car. Don’t ask why I had a can of Spam in my car or why it was a “spare.” I’m not really sure why. But the guy didn’t turn down the gift Spam – nor did he look it in the mouth.

I could write and write for weeks about the homeless people holding their signs and being homeless and the conversations I’ve had with quite a few of them (and the conversations I’ve had with some of the mental patients that I cross paths with who live in half-way houses, which we also have quite a few of in this town).

But the other day I saw something a little different. Same type of guy, same traffic-y type of location, same tattered sign tucked under his arm, only this time the sign read, “One dollar a bag.”

I looked on the ground around the guy’s feet in an effort to ascertain what he was selling. I saw a coat. I saw his shoes (with feet inside – although I didn’t really see his feet, so it is just my best guess that they were standing there inside his shoes). I didn’t see any bags.

Darn it! I really wanted to know what that guy was selling for a dollar a bag. I wasn’t particularly interested in buying it, but I wanted to know just the same.

As I sat two lanes away waiting for my light to turn green, I noticed that his lips were moving, and I thought for a moment that quite possibly he was yelling out the slogan, “For sale! One dollar a bag!” I wanted to read his lips (not that I know how to read lips, but I always imagine I could if I really needed to know what someone was saying from across the room).

No such luck; the guy was merely talking to himself. When his eyes met mine, I didn’t let that glance linger.

Years ago I learned not to do that. On the other side of town, a woman who had the opposite of cross-eyes, styled a frightening looking frizz mullet, and needed a shave made her living by asking motorists, “Ya got a quarter; I need to make a phone call.” If you made eye contact, then you were next in line for the approach. She was a harmless bag lady, but the experience was frightening just the same.

So I was sincerely frightened for a moment that Mr. Dollar-a-bag would make his way across two lanes of traffic in order to chat awhile. I chat best over coffee.

The light turned green, and I made my way to the highway. I never did find out what that guy was selling – if he was selling anything at all. It’s quite possible that he didn’t know what he was doing there exactly, except to hold a sign that read, “One dollar a bag” and to have a nice little chat with himself.

"Prayerful Moment:" An Easy Habit to Break

Yes, it’s true. As I mentioned previously, Selene and I were nothing but common housekeepers when we were in undergrad school. It was a perfect little business we had going for the most part. Our fame spread across the grey set, and pretty soon little old ladies in ginormous Cadillac’s were cruising the college campus just to get a chance to bump into one of us and contract our employment.

For the most part, these ladies lived in clean houses already. It’s no lie; most every week the meticulous vacuuming lines that I labored to make the week before remained untouched…as if nary a house slipper shuffled its way across the carpet the entire week.

Well there was Matty Catootsa…that job I did alone. Not even in one of those cop shows where they break into a house and take the kids away because of the uninhabitable conditions of the home have I seen living conditions worse than this. Although Matty and her family did flush the toilet – they had that going for them. Still, the mounds of pee filled diapers lying around the bathroom and bedroom floors from the six-year-old bed wetter were a bit of a distraction each week.

But I digress…

Selene and I made good money for three hours of our time per home. Most weekends one of our clients would throw in a nice homemade lunch as well.

Marillis was one of the sweetest ladies a person could ever meet. She had a soft southern drawl, and one could detect just the slightest warble in her voice. She was a tiny, fragile woman too; almost a q-tip frame with a puff of white hair on top – the kind of woman that you are almost afraid to hug for fear of breaking her.

One morning, Selene was in the front room dusting the extensive brass candlestick collection while I was dusting sundry knickknacks in the back bedrooms. She had a habit of beginning the dusting there. I knew immediately there was something wrong, however, when Selene stepped into the room doe eyed and on the verge of completely falling apart.

I seriously wondered at first if she found the husband – in the last stages of emphysema – dead in one of the bedrooms.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” I pleaded.

“Oh man. Oh man. Something happened. I don’t know what happened. I mean I didn’t mean too. Oh, this is bad. This is very, very bad,” Selene mumbled in an almost catatonic state.

“What?! What happened?!”

“I can’t say. Just come here and look.”

She led me into the front room where she had been dusting and parked me in front of the fireplace mantle. At first I didn’t notice. There were at least fifty different kinds and sizes of brass candlesticks on that mantle, and I didn’t see anything wrong with any of them. They just stood there erect and lifeless as always.

And then I spied the problem as I scanned the perimeter of the collection. There it was with hands folded reverently as if caught in mid prayer.…a headless porcelain Lladro Nun statue tipped at a forty-five degree angle and gently resting her stump of a neck on the corner of a brass candlestick. The holy head sat neatly below, resting quietly on it’s newly severed stump.

I wondered silently if there was a special place in purgatory for nun killers. And then I burst out laughing. It was really one of the funniest sights I’d ever seen.

Of course Selene didn’t think it was so funny, particularly as she considered how much it would cost to replace this expensive collectible statue.

When Marillis returned home, Selene confessed through her tears her accidental misdeed. Marillis thought nothing of it.

Later, Marillis confessed to me, “Oh Selene shouldn’t worry about that little ol’ statue. It’s only worth about a hundred dollars. And anyway, thems just things, honey. You can’t take ‘em with ya when ya die.”

All I could think of in the moment was, “A HUNDRED DOLLARS?! That would take us four weeks to make enough money to pay her back!”

But Marillis knew something about life and possessions that we were only beginning to understand that day. Life is definitely more than the things we can accumulate, and it took a fragile little old lady to give us a glimpse of what it meant to be content regardless.

(To see the little Nun statue, enter the number 01015500 in “Search by Reference” space at the Lladro site.)

EEEWWWW

Yahoo search phrase that brought someone to my site:

Dick Van Patten Shirtless.

Let me be the first to say, "That is just wrong." I do not even want to consder the demographics behind that search.

Crappyglue

This just in: superglue is not super. It’s not even good. It’s really more like “crappyglue.” I don’t even know why I have that crap in my home except that having it gives me reassurance; if something breaks, I will be able to attempt to glue it back together before eventually I throw the broken thing away.

On Saturday, I found a little kid toy that was almost chomped clean in half by Champ . Great, I thought. This toy is a good candidate for that special glue.

So I removed the “push-pin” lid from the glue bottle, but I was unable to squeeze out the pin drop sized amount of glue that I needed to fix the toy. That’s okay, I’ll just apply a little more pressure on the bottle of glue, I thought.

Of course you know what happened – glue gushed out of the bottle (and this happens every time; it’s like having clowns in a bottle – when you think there is nothing else in there, more comes out). This time, though, my hands were entirely drenched in glue.

The situation was not good. For a moment, all of my fingers were stuck together on my left hand, and the toy was stuck to my fingers in my right hand.

By sheer willpower I was able to free the fingers and the toy, but my fingers on my left hand were beginning to crust over. I couldn’t bend one finger, and my ring was glued to my skin.

I abandoned the fix the toy idea.

Does this glue ever work? I mean, does it glue things that we intend to glue? I’ve heard that many doctors will now fasten some wounds with superglue rather than with stitches, and I am guessing that someone had a similar experience to mine to figure out how great superglue works on skin.

Other than closing a wound and gluing a hard hat to a steel beam so some weirdo can dangle precariously over a vat of human waste, are there any good uses for this glue?

The Wedding

I am happy to report that the wedding went perfectly. The bridesmaids behaved, the fairies were adorable, and the bride, as always, was calm, cool, collected, and gorgeous. It was nothing less than a fairytale wedding – the bride being Cinderella, only with raven hair.

Even the weather seemed to cooperate. The young couple, going the low budget route (smart thinking), planned an outdoor wedding at a historical home and garden on a nearby college campus. Of course the first stormy day of the year – thunder, lightening, torrential rains and all – blew in yesterday. I’m sure the mood was a little tense throughout the day as the rain had not relented up until two hours before the wedding was supposed to begin. And the sun never did come out, but it was not raining.

I don’t even think I could describe how magical everything was. The guests were seated under a canopy of three 100+ year-old elms. White lights were strung around the trees and over an arbor draped in tulle. The only thing that was missing was the fairy dust.

Oh, and I did find my spirits…they just weren’t where I was looking originally. Location, location, location… Self, you are so distracting!

The Rehersal

A good friend of the family is getting married today, and one of the little poets will be a flower girl. I say “a” because there will actually be seven – that’s right, seven – flower girls in this wedding. The girls, who range in age from eight to one, will be dressed up like little fairies, wings and all, and will prance up the aisle barefooted. It will be a sight to see! And since the wedding will begin at 7:00 PM, let’s hope that all of the little fairies cooperate in spite of how tired they may feel.

Truth be told, I am more concerned as to whether or not the six bridesmaids will behave. If last night at the rehearsal is any indication as to how things might go tonight, I’m bracing myself for disaster.

This is a wedding of youngish people (early twenties) who are all pretty and self-absorbed. I find that ironic that the bride would choose such a set. She is pretty – she is down right gorgeous, but she is neither bratty nor self-absorbed.

Back to the rehearsal dinner/rehearsal…it was at a friend’s house; the actual wedding, though, will take place out doors about forty minutes from here. My clan was invited to this shindig since my little fairy needed to practice her entrance and exit. Mistake one on my part, I took all four of my kids to this thing by myself. Poetroad was at a conference thingy last night.

The night began to unravel almost immediately. Although it was a big house, there were many, many people and many, many children crammed in there. At one point I heard the host blurt out, “This place isn’t baby proof ya know!” Nice.

Slated to begin at 6:30, there didn’t seem to be any movement towards eating or practicing the wedding half an hour later. At around 7:15, my kids were getting hungry and tired. So were the other six kids that were there.

Mistake two on my part, I only brought a handful of animal crackers as a snack. Those didn’t go very far. When the bride asked the person doing the food (family of the groom) for some snacks for the kids, the food lady declined. Not one little chip could be spared for the cause. I took three-fourths of the kids outside to distract them from their hunger pangs. We struck gold – blackberries. I spent about twenty minutes foraging for berries and doling them out one by one to the hungry fairies and to the rest of my clan. After I picked all that I could reach, we headed back in.

At 7:40, still nothing was happening inside. Well there were a lot of hungry, cranky, complaining adults milling around, but nothing organized was happening. I began making plans to take my kids to get something to eat and return later so my daughter could practice. The wedding coordinator finally decided, however, that we should get going on the rehearsal – dinner wouldn’t be ready until another half-hour after the rehearsal was finished, I was informed.

What was the hold up, you wonder? Several of the bridesmaids weren’t there yet. They didn’t show up until almost 8:00. I don’t know what was taking the bridesmaids so long, but I don’t think that holding up a wedding rehearsal for an hour and a half is a good idea. If you are in the wedding party and plan on showing up that late, there better be tales of ghastly car wrecks, broken limbs, and stitches to show. I didn’t notice any of that when the holdouts sauntered in looking all pretty.

Luckily, not long after the rehearsal portion of the evening we were allowed to dip into the taco buffet. I made sure my kids were fed, and then I scooted out of there as my one-year-old was fading fast. There is something about a screaming infant that people don’t like no matter how late at night it is.

I live five minutes away from where the rehearsal was held, and by the time I got home and got the kids in bed, it was 9:30ish. I know, I know…for the twentysomething crowd, you are just getting started. This is way past the witching hour for kids. Believe me childless people, there is a window of opportunity to get your kids in bed, and if you can’t make it happen before the window closes, it’s not pretty folks. When little ones get very, very tired, you would think that they would magically lie down and fall asleep as you tip toe out of the room.

Wake up people! This is not freakin’ la la land!

Keeping kids up late actually has the reverse effect. They get more wound up. Pretty soon everyone is screaming and crying and jumping on the beds and falling out of bed – parents included.

Luckily, my kids fell asleep almost instantly. Just in time for me to pursue some serious drinking.

Mistake number three on my part, I didn’t have anything spiked enough around here to take me to the drunken state where I wanted to be after enduring that rehearsal. We are mostly an alcohol free zone here. I had snagged some hard lemonade yesterday, though, that my older brother stashed at my parents house (don’t ask why; it’s a longer and more boring story than this…in fact, why are you still reading this?!). The hard lemonade sufficed, but even on an empty stomach, I could not physically consume it quickly enough to do the job.

By 10:00 PM, I was on my third bottle before I even felt a little tingle in my brain. Darn it, I’m not even good at getting drunk. Of course it wasn’t the effort that was flawed; it was the execution of the plan that had problems.

Hopefully the wedding will be better than the rehearsal. I have it on my list to snag some real spirits while I’m out of town.

Try this on for size

Michael Jack got me thinking. Is "underachieving" synonymous to "mediocrity"? Sorry, MJ. Sounds like a personal problem to me - one that I whole-heartedly would say to, "Good luck with that. And I'll see you at the end of the line; I'll be the stylish looking brunette right behind you."

Then I wondered, what would be a good synonym for "mediocrity" anyway? Try these on for size.

Mediocre: characterless, colorless, common, commonplace, conventional, decent, dull, fair, fairish, humdrum, indifferent, inferior, insignificant, intermediate, mainstream, mean, medium, middling, moderate, ordinary, passable, pedestrian, run-of-the-mill, second-rate, so-so, standard, starch, tolerable, undistinguished, unexceptional, uninspired, vanilla

No wonder "Vanilla Ice" didn't go far - it was the name that did him in. Might as well be "Mediocre Ice."

I also liked this little side note synonym entry from thesaurus.com:

Cheap: bad, base, blah, bogus, catchpenny, cheesy, common, commonplace, crap, crappy, crud, cruddy, dud, flashy, garbage, garish, glitzy, junky, lemon, lousy, mangy, mean, mediocre, meretricious, no bargain, no good, ordinary, paltry, poor, ratty, raunchy, rinky-dink, rotten, rubbishy, second-rate, shoddy, sleazy, small time, tatty, tawdry, terrible, trashy, trumpery, two bit, valueless, white elephant, worthless

Sleazy, tatty (don’t know what that means exactly, but I like the look and sound of it), trashy....oooooooooooo...now those words definitely have some possibility here. Oh, and I see my favorite adjective "crappy" right there too. I'm really starting to dig this mediocre thing!

from "Think Geek." Yeah, that seems about right.

Here is my new motto...

Tiiiiin roof...rusted...

I’ve been having some long telephone conversations with a married man (not my husband) recently. A few times we’ve talked for at least two hours late into the night.

Don’t get any crazy ideas though. I’m not having an affair or anything fun like that. I’m revamping one of our online courses, and it needs to be done before next Tuesday. The guy I’m chatting with, Larry, is the web master, and I am one of the curriculum specialists (that’s a fancy title for “girl who writes the crap that everyone teaches”).

Larry is a “Nervous Nelly” – that’s Poetroad’s characterization anyway, but I’d have to agree. Larry gets a little anxious about things (ha ha…isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black), and when we work on a project together, he calls two or three times a day on the days that he is webbing my stuff. I’ve finally figured out, though, that when I want something done on the site that a conversation will ensue. I always email the directions and the material, but he is a verbal processor. Larry needs to hear me say it in order to understand what I mean. Often I am simply reading straight from the email, and every time he responds as if he never “heard” me say that before. It’s not a criticism; he’s just quirky that way.

But this post really isn’t about Larry. It’s about how I’ve slowly begun to own up to my steady migration into geekdom. Often I find myself chatting with Larry about the course – talking through the problems and working the kinks out of the course navigation (our courses are a little bit like textbooks online because they are designed so that students can work on the work in an asynchronous fashion) – and the epiphany comes in short bursts. “I know what the word asynchronous means. I care about what the word means. He is speaking in computer speak. I understand him and I care.”

The descent was long in coming. Actually, I think that I was always there, and the veil is finally being lifted. I was a closet geek in high school. I’ve been in denial for a lot of years. When I had to purchase my first pair of reading glasses, that should have been a huge clue. Nothing is wrong with being a geek. I just tended to characterized myself as “athlete” or “parent” or “girl who likes to read and talk about literature” or “girl who likes to wear black and wishes she had a tattoo but won’t get one for fear that she will be seen as one of those large ladies who gets a cute little tattoo on her ankle to somehow make her jumbo calves look smaller” or just “sexy lady.”

Okay, I just threw that last one in for fun.

School is in

One summer down, one school year to go. It was the first day back to school for two of the four little poets. I’ve never seen two children more excited to get back to school than these two.

Back to school prep begins back in July when Mom hits the sales and buys school supplies before the Labor Day mark up. Which is crazy because I am guaranteed to find the 10-cent Rose Art 24 pack o’crayons at Wal-Crap any day of the week any day of the year.

But the volume of glue sticks required in this school district is what always sends me to the stores in July when I can buy a pack of 3 for 20 cents vs. the 2.00 per pack I would have had to pay had I waited. Plus, there was a year or two when I waited too late to get the supplies, and then there wasn’t a glue stick to be found in the city – even at Wal-Crap. God knows that the kids need the glue sticks to fashion the menagerie of paper art work that I am seriously considering using to wall paper my house with due to the sheer tonnage of the stuff that gets sent home.

Anyway, the fourth grader was up, dressed, down stairs with her backpack on (that has been packed and ready to go since July), and was eating breakfast by 7:00 AM. School starts at 9:10. Half way through the morning, I had to kindly ask her to stop updating me every two minutes on what time it was.

Needless to say, everyone was in class and set way before the bell rang for school to start. Completing the parent/student first day of class stuff was a little tricky, though, for a parent who has multiple children. I just want to get my girls to their desks and orient them to their new classroom without having the extra assignment piled on top of that task, thank you. Plus, there were a few kids who didn’t have a parent there to help them out…one little guy looked at me with big fearful eyes and said, “Hi. I don’t know what to do.” So of course I helped him out too.

Then as I hurried home with the two younger poets so I could take my four-year-old in to get immunized. All and all, it’s been an interesting morning. I need another cup of coffee.

And I thought I was a good kisser

What Is Your Best Sexual Skill?
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