Old Habits Die Hard

I’m kind of embarrassed to admit this, but I’ve been sucked back into the vortex that is soap operas daytime drama. The main reason that I decided to go back to work when I started here was daytime television. Even if I tried different channels, I could predict what would happen—down to the dialogue—every episode. Even weeks in advance, I knew that this person would sleep with that person or these two were going to fight. It was annoying, and when you’re only 20, the baby doesn’t talk back, and you don’t have any friends for a thirty mile radius, the soaps begin to make you think you’re going crazy. Or at least they did for me.

Two weeks into working, I was missing my daytime eye candy. I was missing the drama that made my life seem like a cake walk. So I started taping them. Three hours of soaps. And I never had time to watch them. But then came the Soaps channel! I could spend all day Sunday watching the marathon of the last week’s episodes. It was heaven! Then I remembered why I hated them.

But for now I’m sucked back in to General Hospital. It’s the same one that I remember watching with my mom when I was little. I remember seeing Luke & Laura’s wedding like it was a national holiday. And I remember back then they were cool.

What is the draw to these things? Aren’t we “supposed” to desire happily ever afters? So why is it that there are NEVER happily ever afters on soaps? Why is it that the two people who everyone and their mother KNOWS should be together have this tear-jerking, romance-ridden wedding, only to cheat on each other two months later with their significant other’s best friend?

Is it the fact that the men are all gorgeous (which, Steve Burton, if we were to ever both be single & meet in a dark alley, I cannot be held responsible for what I would do to you. Yummy.) and the girls get to roll around with all of them before they are run out of town or mysteriously bumped off? Or is it because, like I said before, it really makes us appreciate our simple lives? Lives without mob bosses or secret babies (although, there are some people around here that come a very close second to the drama)?

So that’s my question for you today. Do you watch soaps daytime dramas? If so, do you know why? What is it that draws you to them?

Glamorous Doctorines

I felt like having some self affirmation statements today. Wanna add to the list? Leave a comment.

I believe. . .
. . . that the kind of day you are going to have is directly related to how your hair looks when you’ve finished it in the morning.

. . . that there is no spousal argument that cannot be solved with chocolate, flowers, jewelry, or any combination thereof.

. . . that there is nothing more beautiful in the world than your child(ren) when they sleep at night.

. . . that a manicure can turn a bad day around.

. . . that margaritas are the most perfect alcoholic concoction on the planet.

. . . that a good cry every now and then is good for our insides.

. . . that you are never—ever—too old to twirl.

. . . that everyone can be a rockstar—in their car.

. . . that there is no greater picture of God’s sense of humor than looking at your child and knowing that your mom was right.

. . . that a good hair day is cause for celebration.

. . .that it’s OK for me to be happy right where I am.

. . .that it’s OK for me to want to move back to CA just as much as I want to stay here.

. . .that it’s OK to be a nerd. So long as we’re cute nerds.

. . . that good friends never really grow apart.

. . . that there are some days you just aren’t meant to get out of your pajamas.

You're next!

Not Dead Yet

I’m back from my near death experience. I think. I cannot remember the last time that I was that sick. And it wasn’t even one of the good colds that make you not hungry and cause you to lose weight by the time it’s over. Quite the contrary, actually, I was STARVING. Last night was the first night that I went to sleep without the aid of NyQuil or some other (legal) drugs.

You know that episode of “Friends” where Phoebe gets sick and her voice drops all low & sultry like? That was totally me for the past week. I think I’ve got my normal voice back today, but I’ve still got a cough that sounds like an 80 year smoker’s cough.

But now! I am back! And in the week since I’ve posted anything that was my writing and at least marginally entertaining, I’ve been to my first dance class! It’s fantastic and I love it & can’t wait to go again tonight! We’ll be learning a tap dancing routine and (thankfully) will not be performing in the recital. Diva also loves her class. We are both proud owners of our very own tap shoes. And it has taken every ounce of willpower inside of me not to wear the tap shoes every damn day.

Other things I’ve accomplished whilst lying on my death bed? Let’s see. . .I read a really good book. Not the one over ----> there, but a very good one nonetheless. I’ve also watched some really good TV. And if I actually had any control whatsoever over the remote controls in this house, I would be addicted to “Dancing With the Stars” and “Studio 60”.

I also did some plotting on what I might possibly write someday. That is, after I’ve got the house put back together and am not so tired that I get to sleep before the kids do. (had to edit that beccause after I read it and Jenn so kindly pointed out, it sounded like I beat my kids. Oy, the drugs need to get OUT of my system!)

So was I productive while I was ill? Perhaps a little bit. Not enough to be impressed with myself, but pretty damn productive for a person who felt like she was half dead.

Now I’m off to go see all of YOUR blogs and catch up on what I’ve missed out on over the past few days.

Glamorous Guest Post

As an added bonus to this week's renter, I offered Beth a chance to do a guest post. And I've been waiting with baited breath for the end result. I can tell you that it's freaking HILARIOUS! It's all completely satirical, so if you don't get that kind of humor (which I know that my three interweb friends get, so really this disclaimer is unnecessary), you should just skip this post.

So, without further ado, I present a guest post:

When asked to do a guest post during my rental period, I thought, ok, I
have nothing of interest to add to my own blog at the moment, what can I
offer to a Glamorous Redneck? Then it hit me. I live amongst rednecks. I
*am* a redneck, yet, I have never met a /Glamorous Redneck/.

According to Wikipedia:

"Redneck women are sometimes portrayed as sexually promiscuous as the
urban stereotype. Daisy Dukes is a name for the extremely small shorts
worn by the character Daisy Duke on the television program (and 2005
film) 'The Dukes of Hazzard. Rednecks are often broad-brushed as lacking
education or being ignorant."

Oh, that hurts. I haven't done the deed since Bubba ran off with
Larlene, the bar maid down at the Blue Horse Bar and Grill, two years
ago. And trust me- my fat ass isn't going to fit in Daisy Dukes-I'd be
lucky to get them up over my calves. As for lacking an education? I can
count to 10- 20 if I use my toes, 40 if I stomp my feet.

I envy Glamorous Redneck. I will never get out of this holler and live
the good life. If I could win the lottery, I'd buy me a new double-wide,
4-wheeler and a Chevy truck-with a gun rack, of course. I want to know
her secrets. How does a redneck woman become glamorous? Please, Mrs.
Glamorous Redneck, share your secrets. Redneck women all over the
country could learn from you. Write a book. Use me as your example.
Before and after. You have achieved what all redneck women want- living
in an Avon world with a Mary Kay attitude. Do it for us. Teach us, oh
great, glamorous one.

(This is meant as sarcasm-for one I totally am a redneck and I don't
give a flying pig's butt what anyone thinks. I'm proud of where I come
from as I am sure Mrs. Glamorous Redneck does. If the post offends you,
take some white out to your monitor).

Like what you read? Then make sure you stop on over to Beth's place. Feel free to give her some of your own glamorous pointers. I'll be back when the medicine haze is completely gone and I can justify the questions she raises with an appropriately amusing response.

Hazy Memories

The head cold from Hades has invaded my head as of late, so instead of boring you with my whining, I thought I’d pull a hazy memory from my drug-filled haze of a mind. A memory that made me chuckle on my way to work this morning. Involving me, a friend, and my first/last/only dance with the Mary Jane. Yeah, cuz I’m hardcore like that.

When I was in 8th grade, a friend of mine (we’ll call her Alex for the sake of the story) had this HUGE crush on a guy (we’ll call him Steve) in our grade. This guy also happened to be one of those guys that your mamma warns you about. Nine times out of ten he came to school high, and how he never got caught is still a mystery to this day. Because you could just see it in his eyes.

Anyway, even though he was a big loser, he was also super cute. And he liked Alex too. So one day he invited her over to his house to “hang out” and I, being the ever-supportive best friend that I am, gave into her begging and went along for the ride. Only she couldn’t tell her mom where we were really going, so her mom dropped us off at some cheesy little strip mall a couple of blocks away and would be picking us up after a couple of hours.

We trudged through all these stupid back woods (just in case her mom came back early) and met up with Steve at a bike track. Then we proceeded to his “friend’s” (read: dealer’s) house. As soon as we got there, the guys closed all these super dark window shades and started rolling up a big fat one. I was fascinated by the whole ordeal. The way they sliced into the cigar and packed the goods back into the wrapper, then sealing it up like it had always been that way was amazing to me! When they offered it up to us though, Alex and I both refused. By this point, it was just starting to kick in that we were not in a very safe situation. I glanced over at Alex, but she seemed fine, so I relaxed a bit.

The room was dark for about a half hour while the boys all went about their business. Alex and I began feeling a little giggly. It was pathetic, really, and I’m pretty sure it was mind over matter because all of a sudden we were STARVING and oh my gosh, y’all we’re gonna DIE if we don’t get some food soon. The guys all agreed by this point, so we all walked back to the strip mall where we were supposed to be shopping and went to Taco Bell. Between like 6 of us I think we had $5. So we all pooled together and bought a few tacos. Alex and I ended up sharing ONE taco.

When I think back on this part now, I think of the scene in Eurotrip when Scotty and the girl twin are in the Rasta bar in Amsterdam and they’re all “Oh my God, I’m totally tripping right now!” and the Rasta Man is like “Dude, there’s no weed in da brownies!” Because while we could have had a room buzz, there was NO WAY that we were as high as we thought we were.

The worst part of it was riding home with her mom. We were totally paranoid that she would smell it on us. Luckily she didn’t. Or she did and never said anything. But when we got back to her house, we had about an hour before my mom was coming to get me. And I knew she would smell it. She’s got a nose like you wouldn’t believe & could tell when I’d tried a cigarette for the first time—even though it had been six hours earlier.
So I took a shower & got most of the smell off of me, but my clothes still reeked. “What am I going to do?!?” I was freaking out by this point because I was sure that this would be the last straw with my mom & she would send me off to an all girl’s school or something.

Our solution? Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth perfume. Practically a whole bottle of the stuff. Now, if you don’t remember EY, just think fruity with a tinge of something that stings the nostrils. I don’t know why, but we were both obsessed with the stuff. So, I doused all my clothes with EY and sufficiently masked the eau d’weed from my mom.

This is one of the very few stories that Glamorous Mom doesn’t know about. At least not to my knowledge. Because it was stupid and dangerous and I could have gotten arrested. So, kids, don’t try this at home.

And don’t ever—EVER—douse yourself in Electric Youth. Because if you catch even a hint of it ten years later, it just may send you into convulsions.

******
Also, I didn't write the letter. I mean I wrote it, but I didn't get it in. I missed the deadline and think two weeks from the incident is too far away. Besides, the more I thought about the fact that this whole pit of serpents I live around would be judging me was enough to make me all nervous and twitchy. Cuz I'm not that brave out here in Podunk.

Hello, My Name is Ranty McRanterson. Or "I'm telling you baby, that's not mine."

There was a letter to the editor in our town paper this week that really pissed me off. The writer basically said that all young people (the title of the letter was gen X’ers which REALLY pisses me off because she’s lumping a whole GENERATION of people (which doesn’t even include the kids she’s talking about) into one stereotype. And that does not sit well with me) are lazy, mean, disrespectful people who do nothing other than sit around waiting for handouts and bribe/extort their money from their parents. She also says that she fears for our future if these are the kind of people that are set to be future leaders. I have read this letter several times because I couldn’t believe this lady had the cajones to write something like this!

Then I got really pissed off. Because while there does seem to be an epidemic of laziness in today’s teenagers (around here, anyway), for every one that behaves in the way she generalizes an ENTIRE group of people, there are at least five kids that are the exact opposite. And it bothers me that she stereotypes all these kids into one type of person, then writes a damn letter to the editor to whine about it. I’m tempted to write one too. I feel sorry for her if the way she describes kids is the only way that she’s seen them, but don’t go and write to the paper! Kids don’t need the adults in their community telling everyone that they think the kids are lazy and disrespectful! They need the adults to guide them towards the way they can excel and be the best at what they’re trying to do. So what did this lady accomplish other than piss me off? Maybe some kids will look at it and say “whatever, I’ll prove you wrong,” but maybe some will look at it and say, “well, if this is the way the adults feel about us, screw them. I don’t need to try any harder.”

So that’s why I’m tempted to write the letter. To tell these kids that not everyone in the community puts 400 kids into one little box and calls them worthless. What do you think? Should I do it?

*****
In other news, CJ bought some really cool rocket balloons this weekend. Balloons that happened to come with a pump. Now, every time I hear him blowing up his balloons, I keep thinking of Austin Power’s Swedish Penis Enlarger—because that’s exactly what it sounds like! Especially when CJ’s trying to blow the balloon up in a hurry. It’s highly entertaining for one and all. But I don’t think I’ll explain to CJ why it’s so damn funny to me just yet.

Go See My Renter

I've been a horrible host this week, and she was so darn nice to me when I rented from her. SO I need your help! Please go see my renter Grins. She's a cool chick with a funny blog. Go on now, there's nothing to see here.

I will say though, that I am going to visit my bro at college tomorrow. For the sole fact that there is now a Famous Daves in his town. I'm so glad that he moved back to the big city.

My Favorite Things

The Remodeling Project That Will Not End has ended. . .for the most part. There are still some little things that need to be finished (like the trim around the windows and air conditioner), and some decisions yet to be made (do we put carpet back in? Go through the pain in the ass process of refinishing the floors?), but things are moved back in. I present a photo summary:

Phase I: Rip all the crap out, which resulted in finding a rotted bat carcas in the walls:



Phase II: Which resulted in a re-dislocated shoulder and enough swearing to even make George Carlin blush:




Phase III: Which resulted in a room exactly how I pictured it and motivated me to want to like this house again:


It's still kind of a mess because I'm putting things back together and reorganizing, but you get the general jist of things.
Again, the pictures don't do it justice. The wall color is "desert sand" and the trim is called "bark". We textured the walls with a technique we came up with all by ourselves.

I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am with this room!

Now, in conjunction with the title of this post & the bliss that comes from having this room back, I present a few more of my favorite things:
My seashell collection! This is only a small portion of the collection that I have--but they're the prettiest of them all. No, sadly I didn't find all of these. But a friend of mine did, at a garage sale for 25 cents! They remind me of home. And feed into the idea that I wanted the colors in this room to be my "beach away from the beach."

On the shelf below that are two picture frames for me to fill up with the kiddo's school pictures. Which is why I'm happy to have school pictures for both of them,Mr. Fab.

Below that shelf are my bats:
You can't see them very well, because, well, they're black on black. But they are all from my very awesome bat friends from eHQ. Don't tell them I said they're awesome, though. They'd probably be inclined to take away my battiness.

Finally, Two favorites in one picture:


First off, my nails! When I saw the name of this polish I just had to buy it--Hot Pepper! And now that my life has started to calm down a bit, I'm much less stressed, which means the nails are growing beautifully!

And, last but not least, Patrick Dempsey. I don't watch Gray's Anatomy (I don't get to watch anything that is not either a cartoon or about building and/or blowing stuff up), but I've had a little crush on this man since I saw him in Sweet Home Alabama. He's just so darn pretty!

What are some of your favorite things?

The One Without A Title

I just haven’t quite known what else to write about. The 2996 project was so much more than I had anticipated it to be, and it left me drained. But life goes on, I suppose. And I still have nothing good to write about. It sounds like it might become an annual thing, so I hope you’ll all consider being a part of the tribute next year!

Work has been INSANE. You know how I was all excited because I was going to have three whole hours to myself almost every day? Yeah. That’s happened ONCE since school started. I’ve spent every other day working right up until it’s time to get the kids from school. And then yesterday, I had to go pick Diva up because she was spiking a 100.3 temperature! She got her shots on Monday, so the Dr. figured it was just a reaction. When she got up this morning, she was fine, so I suppose that’s what it was. I felt so bad for her because her leg has a big bruise where they gave her third shot and she was limping! But when I asked her if she wanted to stay home she said “No way!” Glad that one of my kids is enjoying school.

But! The Remodeling Project That Will Not End has ended! And it’s GORGEOUS! One of these days when I get the afternoon to myself, I’m going to take pictures. But I can pretty much guarantee that the pictures won’t do it justice. I had a vision in my head and what is on the walls is exactly what I had imagined. I LOVE my new office! It’s my little beach away from the beach. The walls are called “Desert Sand” and the trim is the color of palm tree bark. Perfect.

So, that’s pretty much all I’ve got. Today is picture day at school, so I’m excited to get those back & have school pictures for both of my kids!

George J. Ferguson

GEORGE J. FERGUSON, 54, of Teaneck died Tuesday September 11, 2001. He was president of Westfalia Investment Co., New York City. He was a parishioner of Holy Trinity R.C. Church, Hackensack. He was a father, an employee, a colleague, a friend, and a victim of a senseless act of violence.

When I came across this opportunity to remember one of the 2,996 people that died on September 11, 2001, I jumped at the chance. I thought it would be a great thing to do for the families of the victims, but I didn’t realize the effect it would have on me.

I’ll admit, it was a huge struggle to try and find any information on George Ferguson. But the websites that I came across were astounding. People have dedicated so much bandwidth to the remembrance of fallen strangers. The first thing that amazed me was the sheer quantity of names. I’ve never actually taken the time to look at almost 3,000 names, so to actually do it was overwhelming. The list just kept going and going and going. And it hurts my heart to know that so many people were unnecessarily murdered that day. It’s only about 400 people short of my entire town’s population. Can you imagine that? An entire town just gone.
I didn’t know how to honor a man that I’ve never met. And then I finally started having some success on the 9/11 tribute sites, thanks in part to someone that was a good friend or Mr. Ferguson’s.

From what I’ve gathered, he was a good man. Everyone that posted any memories said that he was always quick to share a laugh, a smile, or a joke. They spoke of memories they had of meeting at the bar after work and Mr. Ferguson insisting on buying them a round.

He didn’t even work in one of the WTC towers. He was the president of Westfalia Investment Co., a company with offices located in the building referred to as 90 West. It’s a Gothic building with beautiful scrolls of terra cotta on the outside. I wonder what it looked like before. And I have no idea what it was like inside, but I suppose it was like any office building. I picture it in warm, creamy colors. A cream and orange swirled marble tile on the ground floor, offices taking up most of the space above. Now that it’s been rebuilt, it’s been converted to apartments, but I know when I get to New York, I’ll stop for a minute at that building to remember.

On September 11, 2001, George Ferguson started his day out as I’m sure he did every other. Was he a coffee drinker? Did he take a minute in the morning to read his email? Or the paper? Or was he like me and had everything down to an exact science in order to maximize sleep time? I honestly wish I could tell you. I wish I could have had the chance to meet him instead of learning about him as part of a tribute. Instead, a wonderful, mischievous, thoughtful, caring man was taken away from those who knew and loved him because he was in an elevator at 90 West when the planes hit. He was trapped and died of smoke inhalation. There is evidence that another person, Maria Ramirez was in the elevator with him that day. I can only hope that in their fading moments, they gave each other as much peace and comfort as possible.

Taking this opportunity to remember a man that I don’t know has made the events of 9/11 so much more real to me. I mean, I saw it as the huge tragedy that it was, but now it’s so personal. It hurts my heart that there are so many families still mourning the loss of their dear relatives. I can only hope that this little tribute can give them something tangible to know that whether we knew each other or not, every single person in this entire country feels a sort of loss for these innocent people.

So, now that you’ve read my memorial to George Ferguson, take a minute to go to the 2,996 website to see the list of victims.


ALAN JACKSON LYRICS

"Where Were You (When The World Stopped Turning)"

Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day
Out in the yard with your wife and children
Working on some stage in LA
Did you stand there in shock at the site of
That black smoke rising against that blue sky
Did you shout out in anger
In fear for your neighbor
Or did you just sit down and cry

Did you weep for the children
Who lost their dear loved ones
And pray for the ones who don't know
Did you rejoice for the people who walked from the rubble
And sob for the ones left below

Did you burst out in pride
For the red white and blue
The heroes who died just doing what they do
Did you look up to heaven for some kind of answer
And look at yourself to what really matters

I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love

Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day
Teaching a class full of innocent children
Driving down some cold interstate
Did you feel guilty cause you're a survivor
In a crowded room did you feel alone
Did you call up your mother and tell her you love her
Did you dust off that bible at home
Did you open your eyes and hope it never happened
Close your eyes and not go to sleep
Did you notice the sunset the first time in ages
Speak with some stranger on the street
Did you lay down at night and think of tomorrow
Go out and buy you a gun
Did you turn off that violent old movie you're watching
And turn on "I Love Lucy" reruns
Did you go to a church and hold hands with some stranger
Stand in line and give your own blood
Did you just stay home and cling tight to your family
Thank God you had somebody to love

I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love

I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love

The greatest is love
The greatest is love

Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day

Hobb-knobbing with the future Rich & Famous.

Today my interweb friend Superstar is trying out for American Idol just two short hours away from me. If I didn't have all these stupid responsibilities, I'd be up there with her. But I'm forced to live vicariously through her experiences. I'm so excited for her! Because I've heard her sing and she is phenomonal! And it wasn't even a professional recording and she rocked. So won't you all take a second to go over to Superstar her blog and wish her luck? I've insisted on being put on her cell phone and I have mine sitting right next to me, so I'll post any updates as soon as I get them.

It's cool to know someone who's going to be brushing up with The Three from AI. After all, Paula Abdul was the first concert that I went to by choice. I was 12 and it was the "Under My Spell" tour. I was so excited when I got the tickets (for my birthday) that I screamed at the top of my lungs and ran around my house. I can even remember what I wore. I wanted to look "older", so I borrowed one of my mom's shirts. It was a red turtle neck with black polka-dots all over it and HUGE shoulder pads. Add in the black leggings and I was HOTT. Yeah. I was also a casualty of the late 80's/early 90's fashion craze that was polka-dots and shoulder pads. And mall bangs.

And I'm just going to stop talking now because I'm feeling extremely old.

But I will say that Diva had a fantabulous day at Kindergarten. A few of her friends are in her class, so super bonus! I was proud of myself because I didn't even cry today. I did, however, piss her off because I wouldn't let her walk to class all by herself.

I'm just not ready for that yet.

Letting Go

She was so excited today, but I couldn’t help but feel sad. I mean, she’s my baby. But she’s been waiting to go to school for two years. So as much as I wanted to keep her with me, I had to let her go. And it hurt like hell.

Overall I did pretty well, I thought. It helps that her teacher is a friend & was CJ’s for the past two years. But that didn’t stop the tears from falling just a little bit in the classroom. And it sure didn’t stop the sob-fest that came on in the car.

But why is it so sad for me? I’ve known this day would come for the last five years. It just came so fast. I know that’s what everyone says, but it’s true! I can’t believe that these two kids who just eight years ago were not even figments of my imagination are now in school.

I can’t wait to hear about her day! And she can’t wait to learn how to read all by herself. I’m also excited to just watch them continue to grow. To see the interests that form, the friends they make, and the new memories at school.

On top of all of that, though, it’s still so hard to let them go. Sometimes I want to just freeze time exactly where it is right now. But each and every phase has more excitement and memories to be made. I know that I don’t really have a choice, but I like to believe that I do. Because I could continue treating them like babies. I could never let them do anything or go anywhere. I could keep them shut in my house and never give them the chance to make any mistakes. But who would that benefit? So I won’t do that. I let them go full of excitement and fear and trepidation. And I can only pray it all turns out OK.

One Down One to Go

Also? I lied about Slacker Sunday. There was no slacking going on in this house, so I didn't feel it fair to allow cyber procrastination and slackdom when I spent the day finishing phase 4 of The Remodeling Project That Will Not End. It began Memorial Day weekend, so it's only fitting that it took the entire freaking summer and we finished it up Labor Day weekend. Only it's not quite finished yet. We've got about an hour of work left before I can cross Phase 4 off as complete. Then we just have to paint and figure out how to get carpet glue from the 1970's off my pretty hardwood floors and I will have a brand new office space to call my own!

But the reason for this post is that CJ started second grade today. It made me think of my first day of second grade. I was so excited for school to start that I got up and got myself ready at 3:00 in the morning and woke my mom up by dancing around the living room to Whitney Houston's "How Will I Know" in my green dress with pink roses on it. Glamour Mom was none too thrilled with this.

Needless to say, I had not anticipated any such reciprocation from CJ on this. And I didn't get it. I did, however, get him to school late. Yeah. I'm that bad. But I had an excuse! I was busy fielding calls from parents all morning, making sure everything at work ran smoothly. We were only two minutes late, so it wasn't like it was the end of the world, but still. This is a small town. And the principal walked right past me as I was leaving and checked to make sure I'd brought him in today. Yes, I need a permanent "L" on my forehead because I suck that bad.

Anyway, he had an awesome day and has two very awesome teachers, one of which has earned a permanent spot on my "you rock" list by reading them Pippi Longstockings on the first day. And forcing them to read all afternoon. For the girl who could spend all her day reading--and gave birth to a boy that could spend all day NOT reading--this sounds like a perfect spot for him to be in.

Only one more day until the ultimate meltdown where Diva walks into Kindergarten for the first time. *Sniff* I refuse to think about it until I'm there. And she refuses to wait a year.

Lookit ME! I'm Practically FAMOUS!!!!

Well, maybe not really, but I am being featured over at 5 Minutes for Mom. So won't you take a sec and go check out the ubercool website where my interview is posted? Thanks much!

I had an interview over at "5 Minutes for Mom".

Do you know about this new mom's blog called 5 Minutes for Mom? It's sort of a combination of a personal mom blog and a mom-site directory. It's owned by twin sisters who run two online stores that sell all sorts of stuff ranging from retro Coca Cola collectibles to handmade wooden toys.

Go See My Renter

Because frankly, she rocks. Poppy is not only a blogger that I visited long before I'd even heard about blog explosion, but she's also one of the posters on my new favorite website, Mammarazzi. The are snarky and hilarious and I stop by all the time. So why don't you go there now.

But make sure you come back here tomorrow for another edition of Slacker Sunday where I dig deep into the cesspool that is my high school poetry journal.