Oh Good God!

Oh balls

2011-08-23T10:54:00.006-06:00

I have long lived the philosophy of "have fun, don't fall down." Until this summer.

I decided that because I have a kid who plays soccer, maybe I should kick the ball around now and again. So I joined an adult co-ed team.

Oh. Good. God

Adult soccer is much quicker, more physical. The field is bigger and the summer sun intensifies at a rate of about 1 million times hotter than for those lowely few fans on the sidelines. I had no clue what I was doing, but I like to run so I simply followed the ball. I had fun, I fell down alot. I sucked, but I'm happy to be included. Up until the point I was not.

A major difference between adults and kids is that kids are constantly reminded to be nice. At some point, we forget those lessons as adults. You may think I stink, but do you really need to tell me? Probably not.

As this was a fun, all-skill-level league, I didn't do much prep work. Fail on my part. I know I'm not the best, fastest or most aggressive. I get that I don't know all the rules. But make me feel like a bit of an ass about it, and I won't stick around.

I love to try new things. Just ask my salsa teacher, my burlesque teacher, my aerial arts teacher or my urban pilates teacher.

This experience reminded me that not all things will be my favorite. I've found LOTS of great classes, met new people and generally expanded my life beautifully.

As for soccer, I'll keep that at the 8-year old level, which suits me just fine.

The Year of the Aha Switch

2011-03-25T10:33:00.003-06:00

When does it happen? When do you flip that switch? You know the one I mean -- the one where you stop worrying about how skinny you are and instead find ways to keep your body healthy and strong. That little clicker that moves from caring about what model of car you drive, to what types of snacks are in your glove box for the rider in the little seat in the back. It’s the shiny moment when you realize that sitting on the back porch watching the sun set in the summer shimmer while the boys in your life play in the backyard is one of the best moments you will ever have. It’s when you realize that growing a little garden, watching the tender shoots bloom and offer their very best fruits because you loved them just right is a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

When does that happen? 32? 40? 55?

Some people never get there. For me, it was 36 -- the past year. After everything in my life changed, completely and irrevocably. Divorce, my concept of family, my safe haven of home, financial stability -- all rewritten. And what is left is the peace of knowing that all those things come and go in different forms.

To be loved is to love first.

Good is sitting on the porch in the sun watching my son play in the yard … of a rental house, or the park, or finally, backyard of our house.

It’s being there, switch on.

One list, two list, me and you list

2010-11-15T13:27:00.001-06:00

I believe art comes in many forms -- writing, painting, music and photography to name of few.

For me, art is the perfect playlist.

I have arranged and rearranged my playlists from the first day I had my steely blue iPod. (Still the best gift ever.)

Before the iPod, it was the ever-appreciated mixed CD. I mixed and mashed my CDs and gave them away like candy. For me, that’s the other indisputable quality of art: It gives. Peace, joy, sadness, love, whatever suits you, it gives again and again.

Because the ball of fire and I like to bebop around the house sans TV, I always have music playing. When we are home, I have to use my BOF-appropriate playlists. For the longest time it was Aretha Franklin, then the Love album remix of the Beatles, lately Nora Jones.

This week I started one called the Lullaby League. Slow, sweet, mostly blues, heavy on the guitar and long on love. Blue Jean Blues by the Jeff Healey Band, Daydream by Robin Trower, some Sarah McLachlan, Nora (always), Starlight by Slash. And then a little John Mayer.

Because in our little world, lullabies are never just about babies in tree tops.

Little hurts lead to big journals

2010-10-08T11:03:00.003-06:00

I was scrounging in my room this morning for a notebook to take to work. I like them spiral bound and with some funky art on the cover. No ordinary notebook for the notebook snob! I came across one, tossed it in my bag and bustled the ball of fire out the door.

When I arrived at my desk, I flipped it open, and read. I had started this notebook as a journal. One that was from a difficult time in the past year. A journal chronicling all the little hurts that caused me to make big changes. One entry in particular was very powerful to me. Finding self-worth is a life-long journey, and one that I am really just beginning. Seeing this entry, and knowing how far I've come, made me feel pretty good.

Better Than...

Do you remember the day you told me you were better than me?

My self-worth cringed at your words, coalescing into a mush in my hole-bitten heart. My loneliness yawned into the future, the way light cannot escape a black hole.

Do you remember that day?

I opened my ears to your criticism. I swallowed my pride to your insults. I accepted your condemnation as truth.

And then I stopped.

I am a better parent, a better lover, friend and family member. Better planner, designer, decorator and artist. Writer, speller, cleaner or budgeter. Better in all areas but one.

And you know it. And you remind me.

Because you can't feel big without making me feel small.

And at that, you are the best.

In the Mood

2010-09-14T12:23:00.001-06:00

I have noticed the past few years that my choice in music is dictated by my mood.

When I’m home – sunshine warming the living room, ball of fire playing in the yard, the smell of wood polish on my hands – we listen to a lot of Beatles and Aretha Franklin.

When I’m in the car – skipping from one lane to the next, sun roof open, breeze in my hair – it’s more like Muse, Foo Fighters or Audioslave.

When my tennis shoes are tied and it’s time to run, I have a clever mix called Dance, Dance, Dance that combines the best of Lady Gaga, Gold Frap, Depeche Mode and a little Pink for spice.
For writing, it’s metal or nothing.

Lately, my house must be dominated by the moon of estrogen because I crave a soulful voice. I need the mellow sound of love and longing. That deeper well of desire and loss. This can only be filled but Sade, Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos, Jill Jack, and Alicia Keys.

The one drawback to answering this siren’s call is my own melody. I have a tendency to sing. Out loud.

I am a decent singer, but when you can’t hear the tune and it is bits of song floating by, it’s hard to determine the quality of my voice.

Usually when a co-worker walks up behind me, they tap me, maybe say, “Caught you!”

I laugh, ask them what they want. Then it’s: “Now go away so I can put the music back on.”

Maybe I’ve had a touch too much estrogen lately. "Even a glamorous bitch can be in need."

Broken, but securely bandaged

2010-08-25T18:08:00.010-06:00

Seems like the topic of love has come up alot lately -- friends, family, even casual aquaintences. Is there such a thing as that all-consuming passion? That mad love?

I was, what I thought, madly in love once. In retrospect, I don't know if it was so much love, but it was certainly mad.

When you are consumed by someone, they literally eat you alive, twist you in knots, pull your strings, wrangle your emotions. I was oblivious of anyone else, job, family, nothing else competed.

The irony was that while I was mad, he was not. He eventually ended it. I was broken-hearted but survived. I was convinced I woulld never be that passionate again and for the most part I was right.

While it was the emotionally trying time of my life, it was a great learning experience. I learned that true, enduring love is respectful, kind, willing to compromise, attentive but not smoothering, but most importantly, it knows it's place. One relationship has two people, and never the twain are divided.

Unfortunately that wide-eyed, bated-breath version of love has been perptuated through years and years of ridiculous teen romances. It seeps into a young girls skin until you believe that Ferris Bueller is really looking at you when he looks directly at the camera -- or whatever.

Even love that begins with that passion eventually settles into embers. Nice warm, snuggly, ugly pajamas and morning breath embers. And that is worth it.

Where's the duffel bag of mine, it's time to go

2010-07-24T07:08:00.005-06:00

My family does not "do" funerals. When I was a child, I cannot recall one funeral I attended. If my parents went, they found someplace else for us to be. In fact, my first real funeral -- with the open casket, viewing, service, etc -- was in my 30s. Needless to say, it freaked me out.

When my uncle died a few weeks ago, I knew his memorial would be something else. It would be celebratory, tinged with sadness. Maybe a touch meloncholy with a focus on what he left behind. I knew this because that is how my family "does" funerals.

You cannot encapsulate a man with pictures, music and scene, but you can do a damn good job trying.

I knew my Uncle Jeff for 36 years and I cannot remember a moment he was really sad, or mad. He was always smiling, telling jokes, puffing his pipe. Sarcastic, intelligent, a gifted storyteller. I wish I had sat and listened more often. Truly engaged in those politial discussions he loved to wage.

Those times are gone. But I can still smile, tell a joke, love my family and be a left-winged liberal. And in that small way... he lives forever.

So deep you can taste it

2010-06-22T13:06:00.002-06:00

I may have mentioned this once or twice, but I do so love summer. The smells, sounds, sunshine and yes, even the humidity. Although my hair reaches a whole new level of mockery, I still sit on my porch every night watching the kids play in the yard and hoping that winter is late this year.

The air has a substance, a tangible thing that caresses much like the way a hand runs that smooth path down a woman’s side, over and around her hips, velvet skin under warm fingertips.

I’ve noticed a longing this summer for a bit more. Beach. Even the ball of fire has asked several times when we can go to the beach again. Next weekend, mom?

For a girl born and bred in the Midwest, I have a strange longing for water. Lakes will do in a pinch to lull me with the rocking slap against the hull. But Valhalla is beach front.

I’ve heard it said that the ocean has no memory. I need that forgetfulness this year. A place to dunk my head and confess all my worst fears and frailties. Wash them away and start again, salty but fresh.

Lovecraft said, “But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean.”

Depth. Quiet. Peace. Coffee on the porch, drinks by the waves and freckles for all. Who’s with me?!

Give a little bit

2010-05-09T12:29:00.004-06:00

We pause from our usual diatribe of sarcasm, mocking self-loathing, jest and sexual innuendo to bring this message. I apologize if it's a bit off the mushy radar.

I had one of "those" moments in church today: self-awareness. I try to avoid them whenever possible. No one should be too self-aware, as you will suddenly realize how ridiculous you are. However, while singing, a particular line stuck in my head: live a life more abundant.

To me, abundance always means love. You can never have too much. In fact, most of us are in a deficit. But it also means forgiveness, kindness, affection, gentleness, encouragement, color, music, art, dance, sunshine... Abundance.

The ball of fire was sitting on the floor, playing in the seat next to me during this moment, so of course I had to apply my abundant revelation to my parenting. Do I give enough? Do I tell him I love him enough? Hug enough? Encourage enough?

One of my most important jobs as a parent is to raise a man who is kind, gentle, loving, affectionate and generally a good person. No one is without selfishness, anxiety, some level of hate or even meanness. But if all those negatives are tempered by the good things in adundance, then maybe humanity will survive a little longer.

Viola! My message of hope for mother's day.

I should note that while I was having this life-changing moment, my zipper on my jeans was gaping and I had drank so much cappuccino beforehand that I was vibrating in my chair.

Abundance does not equate to perfection.

He's sitting in my angry chair

2010-04-27T18:34:00.004-06:00

I cannot tell a lie, I get angry.

My friend KH often remarks that I need to let all my anger go. She suggests that I would, in fact, be much happier if I stopped harboring anger from old hurts, harsh words or misguided slights.

I never considered myself an angry person, especially in light of someone elses. I have never punched a hole in the wall, or raged, screaming at the woman behind the airline ticket counter. I have yet to damage another person's car because they were parked too close. I reserve my middle fingers for rings.

Recently another friend called me on his way home from work. Apparently he had angered a fellow driver and that person had opted to follow my friend home. Being no idiot, he of course did not lead him home but drove himself -- and his friend -- on a cheery ride through town. An hour (60 minutes!!) later, his friend finally threw in the towel.

That story left me pondering: what would that man have done if he had followed my friend home? Yell? Curse? Hit? Was being cut off in traffic that big of a deal? Why couldn't he just crab to himself and drive on? What possesses a person to spend an hour of his evening, his free time, to track another driver?

Of course, I had to research.

According to the AAA Foundation for Traffic Safety, "On average, at least 1,500 people are killed or injured annually as a result of highway violence. And these figures don't include other forms of highway crime such as violent car-jackings, drunk driving, random snipings, thrill shootings, highway armed robberies, hit-and-runs, and objects thrown from overpasses."

When did we become such angry, vengeful people? Why does the silly actions of someone else become a rage-inducing reason to commit violence? Personally I blame George Bush.

Yes, I've been angry but never that much. Usually it's just enough to make me cry so hard I might pee my pants a little. But even when that happens, a tad bit of detergent and it's all just a memory.

Teaser

2010-03-31T16:26:00.001-06:00

Sometimes all you need is a spotlight, the right music and the annonymity of a dark room full of strangers.

I never thought of myself as much of a performer. In small groups, I enjoy holding court with stories and jokes. I can carry a tune within a larger chorus. In the shower, I am the best singer alive. But beyond that?

Recently I decided (read: was persuaded) to take a weekend workshop with Burlesque Downtown Underground, a local burlesque troupe. After a few intensive hours of instruction, the goal was to perform a full song show in front of an audience. Ummm...

I am a huge fan of the art of burlesque: the coquettish tease, overt sexuality tinged with humor and a slight edge of silly. The performance itself has a long and studied history, was frequently frowned up as is anything that invovles the tantelizing appeal of women, but has evolved into an amazing performance. To watch, yes. To do?

I picked my song, finalized my outfit, choreographed my signature moves and waited. Up and until the final show, I wasn't completely sure I could do it.

And then .... I did.

Complete immersion was required. I teased for an audience of one, despite the room of faces. I found the movement of the song and swayed with it. I focused on the slide of my hands, the pull of cloth from my skin or the tickle of curls against my bare shoulders. I did not reveal more than I was comfortable sharing. I luxuriated in the praise and applause. It was amazing.

It revived a level of feminity in myself that is lost in the day-to-day drudge of work, laundry, bills, bath time, tussels over eating vegetables... It also reinforced the belief in me that every woman has a bit of fan dancer living inside of her.

And I'm the one in therapy

2010-03-23T16:13:00.002-06:00

Before I jump into this post, a disclaimer. I like therapy. I enjoy talking about things with a professional who has no emotionally vested interest in me whatsoever. I need that perspective.

With that said, I read an amazing article on New Yorker today about the origins of marriage therapy. This particular article highlights something that I think is overlooked often, "experts" with hidden agendas. In this case, the so-called Father of the Modern Marriage had a racial agenda to build the perfect race.

For Popenoe, marriage counselling was the flip side of compulsory vasectomy and tubal ligation: sterilize the unfit; urge the fit to marry. But what if the fit got divorced? “I began to realize that if we were to promote a sound population,” he wrote, “we would not only have to get the right kind of people married, but we would have to keep them married.” Popenoe opened the clinic in 1930, in order “to bring all the resources of science to bear on the promotion of successful family life”—that science being eugenics. He didn’t much mind if the marriages of people of inferior stock fell apart: “Divorcees are on the whole biologically inferior to the happily married.” By saving the marriages of the biologically superior, though, Popenoe hoped to save the race.

This is a phenomenom that is not uncommon in our country. Sometimes the well-respected, well-voiced professional has neither the credentials or the business suggesting as they do. But the mass acceptance of their opinion is tantamount to professional validation.

At the same time this article was uncovering the history of marriage counseling, it also highlights a common theme with Americans that I personally have seen again and again. Americans want everything to be IT. The perfect thing. The amazing self-fulfilling, life-long dream of IT. And marraige is no exception.

"..the rise of couples counselling has both coincided with and contributed to a larger shift in American life: heightened expectations for marriage as a means of self-expression and personal fulfillment."

With that much pressure, it's amazing any marriage can survive.

Smooth is as smooth does

2010-03-18T15:35:00.003-06:00

Sometimes my subconcious had a tuner all of its own. A subterranean rumble that picks certain frequencies and attaches.

That was the situation a few weeks ago in my local Starbucks. Mid-conversation, I paused -- subterranean rumble. Sade.

Melody with spice. Love making with strings. I love Sade.

After that coffee, I didn't think of her again until my latest issue of Rolling Stone appeared.

Soldier is the first Sade album since Lovers Rock 10 years ago, which was her first since Love Deluxe eight years before that. Like those albums, Soldier is sumptuously melancholy, exquisitely beautiful R&B, perfect for crying on a very expensive sofa. She's been making hit records longer than anyone in the xx has been alive, yet she works in the same style: the hushed, voluptuous tones of heartbreak, reduced to a sexy-librarian whisper, with a very British sense of reserve.

I always feel sorry for people who don't appreciate Sade. Obviously they are missing something from their soul, the tuning fork for that sweet spot, the subterranean vibration that reminds you that loving music is as primal as making love.

Aye, Aye Alec

2010-02-24T16:56:00.003-06:00

I am not a follower of the stars. I care not that Bragelina is breeding again, or how often Brittney Spears flashes her panties. It's information that I inadvertantly absorb while standing in line at the grocery but not sought on purpose.

However, I do love those Baldwin boys. I like to think I am special and can pick up charisma through the veneer. It maybe obtuse, but I always felt Alec Baldwin in particular was a little something special. The movie that did it for me ... "Hunt for Red October."

I know, I know. It's ridiculous. I also care not for you opinion. I was smitten with Alec from that moment forward. His voice has a melody. His dark eyes, that thick dark hair. That smile. And the chunkier he got, the more I loved him. Nothing better than a little meat on a man. Throw in the fabulous sense of humor (see Saturday Night Live, Shweddy Balls) and I was a goner.

I know he's had his emotional drama, but haven't we all.

The reason I feel the need to explain my Baldwin fetish is the recent article in the Vanity Fair about said Alec. Not only is it about the brooding beauty, it is fabulously written. And in a manner that resembles my own.

Baldwin plays rogue operatives with so many hidden compartments that even they seem unprepared for the jack-in-the-box surprises that pop out of them under duress. They’re so deep into intrigue that their identity is in flux, a series of impersonations with Camp intonations. The speedy dexterity with which Baldwin’s Jack Donaghy embroiders bizarre conceits on 30 Rock is the stuff of foppish, Restoration comedy, if Restoration comedy came out of a cocktail shaker. Even in blocky repose, using his hands with dainty finesse and making kissy lips as he plays crafty mind games with a never-ending ammo clip of non sequiturs and off-the-wall observations, Baldwin projects potent energy in reserve, the power to tear somebody in two as if they were a croissant. Burly, hirsute, and self-parodyingly butch, Baldwin has carved out his own wild kingdom of macho-effeminate; in gay parlance, he’s a straight “bear,” a chewy chunk of beefsteak.

Now my balls are Schweddy...

Distracted living

2010-02-16T17:11:00.003-06:00

There is a big push in Missouri -- and at work -- this month to curb distracted driving.

Distracted driving is the leading cause of traffic crashes in Missouri and nationwide, attributing for 27.6% of all Missouri traffic crashes in 2008. One such distraction: texting while driving.

On Aug. 28, 2009, Missouri passed a law that prohibited drivers under 22 from sending, reading or writing an electronic message. Multiple bills have been filed for the 2010 Missouri Legislative season that would make texting illegal for all drivers, regardless of age.

It's an initiative I support. However, I think if you are a responsible person at all, you should know that trying to type on a tiny keyboard while cruising at 80 is a stupid idea. But alas, it's the the stupid ones that seem to survive again and again. Kinda like the roaches and the nuclear holocaust theory.

I try to be level-headed about my cell phone in the car. I have been known to text while driving but generally I hold off.

There is one distraction I cannot give up. No matter how hard I try. No matter what I do. It's always there, lurking in the back seat, taunting me, baiting me to look. And he happens to be 6 so he is also bad about flailing.

Truthfully if you want me to be safer on the road, they need to install child restraints AND a sound proof barrier between the seats. Take, for example, today, shortly after school pick up.

He: "Mom, I'm hungry."

Me: "Ok, we are headed to the grocery store but I have a snack..."

He: "NO! I hate your snacks! I want a hamburger!"

Me: "Uh..."

He: "Hamburger AND fries AND soda. I'm starving!"

Me: "Buu..."

He:"YouneverhaveanythinggoodtoeatandI'mstarvingandIcan'tgotothestorewithagrowlytummyandIwantmyDS!"

Me: "I have gold fish in my pur..."

He: "I want them!! I need them now!!"

Me: "Wait until we get..."

(sound of seatbelt unbuckling..)

He: "I'll get it!!"

Me: "No, sit down... WAH!! Why are you climbing into the seat!"

(swerve sharply to the left and grab shifter as he kicks it into neutral)

Me: "Buckle up this instant!"

He: "I can't get this open, openitopenitopenitopenit!!!"

(At this point, contemplate driving into a building just to have some peace and quiet)

Me: "We are almost at the sto..." (Bag of goldfish shoved in front of eyes)

Me: "FINE, FINE!! GIVE THEM TO ME AND STOP TALKING!!!!!!!!"

(rip open bag with teeth, flinging gold fish all over car, careen into grocery parking and jam on brakes before hitting parked car.)

He: "Oh, are we here already? Can I just get a snack here?"

Motherfu---

Language of crazy

2010-02-04T17:31:00.004-06:00

I made a careless comment to a friend today when I lipped, "words are meaningless." He, of course, immediately pounced with an, "I'll remember you said that."

Instant regret.

In fact, I am one of those people to whom words mean everything. Not just in my capacity as a writer, but as a woman, mother, friend and colleague, words said -- or sometimes unsaid -- have a lasting impact on me.

A few years ago, I took the 5 Love Languages quiz, pretty much knowing what the answer would be. I am a big believer in touch but also, words of affirmation.

Unsolicited compliments mean the world to you. Hearing the words, “I love you,” are important—hearing the reasons behind that love sends your spirits skyward. Insults can leave you shattered and are not easily forgotten.

I always chalked my lingering memory of insults to a solid Irish lineage, wherein revenge is a dish best served cold. I can dwell on harsh words for days, formulating the perfect retort to sock away for the next time.

The irony is that I can dole them out just as harshly. In fact, meaness comes easily to me. I can shoot an insult across the bow before the enemy has time to reposition. And then laugh when the eyes widen in surprise. When the shots are returned, usually I'll stand tall and deliver, but sometimes hover under the fire and wish for a peace treaty. (Like how I carried that analogy all the way through? Nice, right!)

Sometimes that two-minded attitude makes me seem a little crazy. Trading barbs for hours, I can turn to a friend and demand that it is time to "say something nice" and then discredit the compliment because I had to ask for it. I really should apologize for being a nut job.

Right after I call him an ass pony, of course.

Calgon ... can I make a request?

2010-01-29T10:01:00.003-06:00

Anywhere but here today, where the feather dust of snow is accompanied by a whip of wind. But if I have a choice, I'll take the radiant smile from the sun warming my back with the rough kiss of sand under my cheek.

Taking time to make time

2010-01-26T12:01:00.003-06:00

I read an interest piece on the Huffington Post recently (and yes, DG, I know she is insane) about the effects of social media.

Through the general evolution of my career, social media, and the manipulation thereof, have come front in center. I can tell you how to use Twitter, Facebook and Youtube to drive business to your Web site. It's my job to know that.

But I also know that the paradox of "social" media is that actually negates much of your social time.

For example, I have a friend who claims he can spend hours on Facebook. Doing? Good question. Looking through photos of others, taking a myriad of quizes. I have no idea. Is it possible? Apparently. Is it healthy? Doubtful.

A large portion of my life revolves around the folly of others. The other 50 percent is the idiocy of my own life. I've nicked my nipple shaving my legs, dyed my hair purple, taught a toddler to cuss, walked face first into a glass door and fallen down any manner of steps, curbs, hills and ladders. I don't need Facebook to entertain me.

The little idioscyncracies that make people unique are inherent in the joy of actually knowing them, talking to them, watching them trip up the stairs and then laughing manically after you make sure they aren't hurt. Social media removes that.

All that is left is the veneer of a glossy photo from 20 years ago that hides the imperfections and the enlightened well-researched literary quotes that supposedly encapsulates the very essence of your personality.

If that is the case, then my quote is "fucked up, but still worth the time." But I am going to stick with the glossy photo, cause my hair in the morning... damn.

Caution: May tear easily

2010-01-15T12:41:00.004-06:00

It's the small slights that make the lasting impressions. That symphony of tiny hurts the reverberate through your mind, casting doubt and worry.

For me, it's the worry that my ass is too big.

I cannot claim to be waif-like. I have a booty. You cannot bounce a quarter off of it. A quater can sit on it, if you like, but eventually I'll have to grab it and use it to buy a Dr. Pepper. (Dr. Pepper = Love, just FYI.)

I know my ass-titude is robust, but I don't need the reminder.

Take, for example, this morning. The day started well. Everyone was up on time, somewhat cheerful, well fed and ready to walk out the door. The ball of fire, as per usual, hadn't stopped talking since he woke up and continued his banal chatter down the stairs into the car. As I slid the ass in question up into my seat, I heard a telltale shredd that gave me pause.

I looked at the kid and said, "I just ripped my pants."

He said, "Let me see!!"

I am not going to lie, I wear panties that are not appropriate for a 6-year old. I grabbed my jean shards and pulled them together to show him the split, while trying to hide the slip of pink that was showing through.

He said (I'm getting a little weepy here) "Momma! Your bottom is too big for your pants!"

Splendor and bendy

2010-01-14T17:41:00.003-06:00

The call of the artist knows no bounds. An unused medium is no hinderance for the creative mind.

Behold! Mommy as seen through Bendaroos!

Gleefully obsessed

2010-01-11T19:30:00.000-06:00

I blame Jolee...

By way of a public service announcement

2010-01-11T13:28:00.002-06:00

I tend to over share. You may have noticed. I sometimes think my life is one giant melodious screw up… if it’s not one thing, it’s another.

And then sometimes I seem to go out of my way to make it a mess. Take for example, my recent fun-filled joy ride with yogurt.

Before I tell this story, I will apologize. It will be thinly veiled references to my lady parts. If you can’t handle that much intimacy, please stop reading now. Which should leave my sister, a few lovely cousins and my girl, DG.

I believe in the power of a good diet. I eat lots of soft ripe fruits and veg. I drink lots of water and I chew gum like there is no tomorrow. Each has their own benefits in my mental inventory of good vs. bad in the body wars.

One shining star is yogurt. Good bacteria, tastes good, nice bump of sugar without all the negatives. And sometimes, when I feel less than fancy, I use yogurt for other purposes.

Recently, I had a not-so-fancy feeling so I decided to apply the yogurt method. I will insert a personal note here: Has worked in the past to ward off further un-fancy problems! This is not untested ground.

But I digress.

Here is where my problems began. I did not have plain, but rather strawberry yogurt. I was in a hurry. I made a snap decision.

Oh. Good. God.

Turns out the extra sugar will actually GROW other bacteria at a quicker rate. Less-than-fancy as suddenly turned into itching-inappropriate-places-while-in-public.

So I turned to the patented, USDA-approved, over-the-counter helpmates.

Further aggravation ensues.

Finally I turn to my last resort, Dr. Stirrups.

Now my doc has a great sense of humor. He also has a loud voice and likes to laugh at me. I told him my little home remedy problems and he … well, he howled, he laughed so hard.

Then he took a peek, and solemnly looked up at me and said, “I’m sorry, but you have actually have the most advanced case of herpes I’ve ever seen.”

To which I replied, WHAT THE FUUU…!”

He laughed, slapped my knee and said, “I’m just kidding ya.”

I tried to kick him, but Dr. Stirrups is sly and uses a nice little toe strap. He has obviously been kicked before.

With prescription in hand and a stern lecture on the values of the pill form for Lactobacillus acidophilus, I turned to leave the office, I looked back and said, “Surely this isn’t the strangest thing you’ve heard in all your years.”

With a straight face, he replied. “No, it’s not. But I’ll never be able to eat strawberry yogurt again without thinking of you.”

Great.

Fire-breathing ball of fire

2010-01-07T09:20:00.003-06:00

Unwillingly entombed. That is how we are feeling this week. Venturing briefly to work and home again. We spend hours finding ways to entertain ourselves. Games are played, movies watched, DS played until fingers are twitchy.

This morning, the ball of fire was watching "The New Adventures of Scooby-Doo" when he saw someone on the show blow a fire ball.

"No one can really do that," he stated. "Nope, that is impossible."

This past summer, at one of my trips to First Friday's in our art district, a local drum/dance troupe not only breathed fire, they tossed it, flipped and generally made nice with flaming sticks.

He did not believe me.

To youtube! Found an awesome video for him to watch.

His response, "Holy crap, that was wicked!"

Holy crap? Wicked? Where the heck does he hear that crap? I just have NO idea....

My next wish is for fat free, yet tasty, chocolate

2010-01-04T12:21:00.004-06:00

An e-mail flashed first thing this morning on my Blackberry from my musical-butt-buddy, James. We have traded many an e-mail and text dissecting music from all walks. I introduced him to Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, he turned me on with Eagles of Death Metal.

Today's topic of discussion was not a new band but a fucking wish come true. Soundgarden, back together and in the studio. Thank you, sir, may I have another!

I love Soundgarden, which you would know if you look at any one of my posts about Chris Cornell. I had hoped for an Audioslave redux or even ... desperately ... Temple of the Dog. But Soundgarden will do.

Cornell and other members of Soundgarden spent most of 2009 hinting that the long-awaited reformation was on the way. In March, all of the band but Cornell rocked together onstage during a Seattle stop on Tom Morello’s Justice Tour.

"Don't come over here, piss on my gate!"

Not enough space

2010-01-02T12:09:00.004-06:00

One of my best friends, DG, turned 40 this week. We have the same birthday, actually. One of the requests she made this year was for a Foo Fighter's greatest hits CD.

Now, the Foo actually released a CD by the same name earlier this Fall. I saw the playlist and simply laughed. It is a fine list of songs. "Big Me," typical. "Everlong," obviously. "All My Life," required.

The reason for my some-what-mocking laughter is that it's a good list, but it's not a Michele list. It's not a "Rock Your Fucking Foo Face Off" list. That's the kind of CD my girl deserves.

The challenge with a mixed CD is space. I can manage 16 songs, 18 tops. I have a playlist that tops 30. How do I pare that down?

Personally, my favorites are always, always, always non-commercial. So while "Learning to Fly" is a great song, it has some killer commercial success. Off the list.

How many of you have heard "Live-in Skin?" Exactly. "Aurora" was on repeat in my car for two years, one of which was during critical in-utero, brain-growth phases for the ball of fire. Explains a lot, doesn't it?

When I was finished, I was pretty proud of my CD. I think she will like it, hopefully discover one or two new favorites of her own.

Wishes do come true

2009-12-28T10:25:00.005-06:00

The sunlight bounced off the cold peaks of snow outside the window but warmed the spirits of those inside. A heady mix of coffee, eggs and something sweeter filled the air.

Maybe a bit off-key, but full of enthusiasm, they sang the traditional hymn for the day and bade me to make a wish.

And yes, my love, I wished for a bacon cake...

Ho, Ho and a Bottle of Rum

2009-12-22T13:29:00.004-06:00

Read the most ridiculous story this week about a submission to the British Medical Journal -- which they should be ashamed for accepting -- about the negative influence of Santa, specifically how he promotes obesity and drunkeness.

Dr Grills declared: "Other dangerous activities that Santa could be accused of promoting include speeding, disregard for road rules, and extreme sports such as roof surfing and chimney jumping."

Now I am never going to claim that I have a great love of Christmas. I get myself in a tizzy about decorating, buying gifts, spending money, wrapping, you name it. I hate when the season starts and I count the days until it is over.

But, I do encouorage my son to believe in Santa.

Childhood is so fleeting and the magic inherently lies in those simple flights of fancy and the power of fairy dust. Hope, fantasy, imagination: children possess those in abundance, and they all slowly errode with experience and time.

There is no such thing as prince charming or love at first sight. But with perseverance, hard work, good decisions, love and lots of laughs, you can make a good life.

Until that time, he can have Santa.

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

2009-12-18T11:45:00.006-06:00

The ball of fire and I watched "Arthur and the Invisibles" for the millionth time this week.

If you haven't seen this one, I highly recommend. It's funny and the "cast" -- which I use loosely since it is mostly a cartoon -- is top notch.

One of my favorite characters is Maltazard, which is a bad guy, but wonderfully voiced by David Bowie. In a particular scene, the heros start a fight with some of Malhazard's bad guys and Snoop Dogg (as a cartoon, he is even uglier) plays the intro to "Let's Dance." It's part of the dance fighting scene too. So yummy.

Ok, just those few beats makes me want to download that song. Then, I think, "Hey, it's Christmas and what's better at Christmas time then a really great mix of Christmas music!?"

David Bowie mix, coming right up. That's what we are listening to for Christmas morning. Bing Crosby can suck the left one, becuase "China Girl" will reign.

I could use some suggestions though. "China Girl, Let's Dance, Under Pressure..." What else?

Weigh in. I'll publish the final delicious ground-control-to-Major-Tom list when I'm finished.

Now I'm ruined

2009-12-15T11:50:00.004-06:00

I'm like a teenager caught in the grip of first-time-lust. But without the night time emissions! I am crazy for the new Norah Jones CD.

I am a fan of Norahs from way back. In fact, during the ball of fire's early years, I would often put "Come Away With Me" in the CD player when we traveled somewhere. The low melodic timber of her voice coupled with the sway of the car would knock that kid out like a light every time.

Her second album, "Feels Like Home" is also good, but almost too slow and maudlin for my taste.

Enter her newest tome, "The Fall." Mix in a little Johnny Cash, maybe a dash of Janis Joplin and a swirl of Billie Holiday and you have one hell of a good album.

She put together a new backing group that has worked with such artists as Erykah Badu, Al Green, Elvis Costello and Tito and Tarantula. That's a wide sweep of some amazing musical styles. Her guitarist Marc Ribot has a twang that fits in that smooth groove between your eyes and your brain, making that oh-so-mellow feeling that only good music can offer.

If you have any penchant for blues or blue grass, please pick this one up. Then put it on every night while you drink sweet glasses of wine and make dinner with someone you love very much.

Maybe even dance in the living room a little.

Wiki, wiki, what, what!?

2009-11-24T16:46:00.003-06:00

Some of you may have heard about this little user-generated content site called Wikipedia. I was madly in love from the first search.

Now granted, you never know who is authoring these entries. I once saw an entry that claimed former first lady Laura Bush aborted babies for fun on the weekends. While not a fan of the entire Bush clan, I kinda doubted the validity of that one. There is a system of checks and balances to verify data, so that particular page didn't last long, sadly.

I even wrote a wiki once for a former client.

I recently found a new love. I don't feel it's cheating, because it's yet another wiki ... so as long as you keep it in the family, right?

It's called Wikimedia Commons and it's a file sharing site, which is the shit. You may not know why now, but trust me, the shit it is. Why just this week I was crafting a little video for the DOT and thought to myself, "Self, what this needs is a touch of Vivaldi."

Enter Wikimedia Commons. Not only did I download a copywrite-free version of "Spring" but I also snatched some Mozart, Bach and Beethoven, all of which will be featured in a future video of my creation.

I know. It's sugar, isn't it?

Yeah, life sucked before the Internet.

And the super shall reign

2009-11-18T16:50:00.004-06:00

I know I've talked about the "super group" (trademark pending) before. It seems like some killer bands have split and reformed to make additional killer bands in the last few years.

Take for example Audioslave, the magical combination of Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden. Then you have the Raconteurs, which, well, they are the shiznick.

Recently a friend introduced me to Them Crooked Vultures.

Now in the pantheon of "super groups" this one is going to reign supreme in my heart. Formed by Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age, Dave Grohl from the Foo Fighters and John Paul Jones from this little band you may have heard of called LED ZEPPELIN. (If I have to link to Led Zeppelin so you know who they are, then get the fuck off my blog.)

Needless to say, while worried for the future of my beloved Foos, I pretty much creamed my panties when I found out about this band.

I require music the way some people require soda or chocolate chip cookies. Sure, I can live without it, but why the hell would I? And when your soda is made of pure unadulterated rock, then addiction must be guaranteed.

Do I need to say anything else?

2009-11-10T10:20:00.002-06:00

For the love of all that's bacon

2009-10-28T10:28:00.003-06:00

Before I had my funky little allergy, I was what you might call a verging vegetarian. I ate very little meat, and when I did it was fish or chicken. I hated red meat. Anything with too rich a flavor, such as wild game, was repulsive.

I just knew that meat hurt my stomach. In retrospect, I see it was the half-loaf of bread I choked down with dinner that was ripping my intestines apart. Be thankful for that bit of knowledge.

Since last year, not only have I grown to love meat, it is a true cornerstone of my diet. One meat in particular has blossomed in the cockles of my heart: bacon.

When not smothered in syrup overflow from surrounding pancakes, bacon is the stuff of gods. And, my sister taught me how to cook it in the oven so it doesn't stink up the house. Since that day, bacon is a constant on my grocery list.

Now I know what you're thinking: no one should eat that much bacon. But when it's not paired with the bread on your BLT, you can actually eat more of it.

So imagine my chagrin when I saw an article this weekend titled, Against Bacon. I was prepared to be aghast!

And then one little quote saved the day. "There's a reason you've allowed yourself to be bacon-brainwashed. His name is George W. Bush. You ran to bacon when he took office and started tappipng your phone line. You found bacon comforting and distracting. Before you knew it you were starting blogs called Bacon Freak and the Bacon Show."

Proving once again that Bush is to blame for everything.

Influence

2009-10-26T09:51:00.003-06:00

Stepped out of my Missouri safety and made the trek to Chicago this weekend.

I spent three days, neck craned, soaking in the vibrancy only a big city can offer. As with any destination, I ask myself one question: Could I live here?

I’m a small-town girl, but I so love the big city. I could make a live among the high rises, navigating the sidewalks in my Micheal Kors pumps.

But I wouldn’t. Once upon a time I would have traded my life in the sleepy pace of Kansas City for the rush of Chicago, New York or L.A.

Today I look to my right and see the tow-headed influence that has required me to vastly rearrange my priorities. Could I live there? Yes. Could I raise my son there? Not just yet.

When your life requires you to cross town on a bus to play in the yard, that’s not the life for me. I’d much rather sit on the back porch and watch him swing. Or play a lively game of bocce instead of surrounding myself with steel and glass.

Even if that means no Micheal Kors pumps to keep me warm in the winter.

It's called rhythm and blues

2009-10-14T12:06:00.002-06:00

It is subtle infusion of blues guitar and smoky bar, tinged with a lack of inhibition triggered by a sweet shot called the red-headed slut.

The hair on my arms prickle and raise as the bass beats a soothing rhythm in my chest. I smile, and sink into the music, letting it wash over me and invade that hollow palce in the back of my mind where doubt and loneliness sometimes rein. Only the music can brush it aside.

There are no commitments to be met, no agendas to set. I am not obligated to smile, reciprocate, or even speculate. Merely to be imbued.

This is a love affair that transcends the emotional. I cannot resist the lure. The love I give is returned note for note. It may be the only true relationship there is.

I wished for something true...

2009-10-14T10:37:00.000-06:00

Why won't Dave Grohl marry me?

Do oldies make you old?

2009-10-07T08:02:00.003-06:00

Spent the weekend with the parents recently. My dad and I have two major things in common: cooking and music. On a drive into the Cardinals game on Saturday, we listened to the oldies station, singing and trying to remember the names of the artists. At one point the Doobie Brothers were on.

My dad sighed and said, these guys shouldn't be on the oldies station! That makes me feel so old. I agreed and we moved on.

Today on my drive into work, again listening to the oldies station (because it's safe for the ball of fire, FYI! Don't be a hater ...) and the Eurythmics, "Sweet Dreams" came on.

Now what the hell!? The Doobies are old. Annie Lennox, that's my generation. That's just not cool.

I immediately flipped over to the alternative station to absorb some of that youth-infused crap they call music today.

Oh yeah, that comment doesn't make me sound old.

Fancy Pants

2009-09-04T13:30:00.001-06:00

Ball of Fire (in reference to his new bed spread): "Oooh, that's very fashionable!"

Me: "Fashionable, huh. Nice word!"

BOF: "Yeah, it's a fancy word."

Me: "Oh yeah? What's another fancy word?"

BOF: "Industrial park."

When all else goes wrong...

2009-08-10T11:43:00.001-06:00

...You can always hear Jimi. "Music, sweet music..."

Semi-colon, open parentheses

2009-07-28T15:36:00.002-06:00

I miss my blogging. I have notes of weird and quirky things that I wanted to write about. Such is WHY we are still discussing the birth certificate of the current president? Are you kidding me?

But they remain notes, stuck to the bottom of my purse, tethered by a piece of gum the ball-of-fire started to chew and then changed his mind. Little lost bits of journalistic effort that are unceremoniously dumped into the trash when I clean out my handbag.

Ok, feeling maudlin. I will write again. It's a new goal!

Lights on, or out?

2009-06-16T09:01:00.000-06:00

My latest obsession..

MTV killed the radio star -- kinda

2009-06-02T18:22:00.003-06:00

I love social media. Blogging, twitter, Facebook, fun stuff. But the problem I have lately is that now that social media is part and parcel of my job, I don't do it at home. Frustrating. I find the lack of creative outlet can actually hinder my creativity. That kinda sucks.

So I have made a mid-year resolution to resume a semi-regular blog and try to write at least three short stories this summer.

Short stories are my perfect genre -- just enough juice to get your going but no lag in the middle. I am percolating one right now about a woman who kills her lovers by snapping their neck with her legs right at the apex of sexual climax.

Yea, I'm fucked up but I was inspired, and so the creative process goes.

Andy with boxers

2009-06-01T19:36:00.008-06:00

I'm dabbling with my own art gallery. Inspired by my friend's sweet little boxer, Cayenne, and Andy Warhol.

Lightly toasted with a bluesy after taste

2009-04-27T10:56:00.007-06:00

I think I'm verging on a taste change in my music slection. I went through the hard hair band phase. Did the grunge. Been on the alternative wave for a while. Lately I've been switching around to my bluesy favorites.

Enter Jack White....

Apparently Jack has started yet another new band, The Dead Weather. Par for course, it kicks ass. The Raconteurs has been an excellent addition to my catalog. The White Stripes never fail to please. This new gig is a mix of the Raconteurs, White Stripes and Queens of the Stone Age. The lead singer of Queens is also frontman for Eagles of Death Metal which is a lot of fun.

I see this trend emerging ... great artists who collaborate with other greats to create a music for the sheer joy of creating music. Maybe we'll see the end of the corporate band and find the perfect niche of music for music's sake.
Maybe. Until then, at least I have Jack.

Femme Fate-all

2009-04-22T17:28:00.008-06:00

I've been thinking alot about fate lately. Blame it on Billy Joel, I have "Only the Good Die Young" on repeat, but it's always been a topic that I find interesting. (Come on Virgina, don't make me wait...)

Why does one person seem to do so well, while those around him struggle and flail? Why does one person fall in love and the other does not?

Of course, as a Christian I struggle with fate versus divine planning. I believe in divine planning but so many things seem to be fated.

Take for example my shoe fetish. I'm pretty sure I'm fated to get this pair... I won't be able to help myself!

I have been soo good since we bought the house. Spared every dime for curtains and pretty little knick knacks. I haven't bought a single pair. It's about time, don't you think?

Verbal is Keyser Soze

2009-04-20T14:56:00.004-06:00

I love a good surprise ending, especially in a movie. Surprise endings rarely happen in life, however. There are few honest true surprises.

However, meeting someone you love for the first time is one of them. Welcome baby girl. I promise to give you lots of kisses and always have gum.

This and thats

2009-04-06T11:50:00.004-06:00

I've lost things. Lots of things. Not vital things yet things I am now looking for on a daily basis. When does this part end? When does all the stuff find the appropriate spot where it belongs and can be found at the tip of fingers when the need arises?

In the meantime, concert season is upon us. We already have tickets for the Killers in May. Franz Ferdinand? Maybe. U2 is only getting as close as Chicago.

I think one my "sources" is hooking me up with the new Yeah Yeah Yeah's album. And I'm kinda hooked on the new song by Pink.

In the meantime, the this and thats remain MIA.

Moley Russell's Wart

2009-03-17T20:50:00.004-06:00

In the rush and push to pack and move, I noticed a funny little mole on my shoulder.

Now I am a girl with lots of freckles in lots of places. I take very special care of my skin, lots of sunscreen, large hats and I never lay in a tanning bed. But I wasn't always this careful. In my teens and 20s, I too lusted after warm, sun-kissed skin and would lay in the sun and bake .. or rather burn. I never really tanned. I pinked. At 24, I had a mole removed and I never baked again.

So this mole is bothering me. It's right under the bra strap on my left shoulder so it tends to be pink from the constant friction. I have looked at it up close. I've had the hubby look at it. Even the ball of fire has peered at it, looking for signs of irregular growth, discoloration or any sign of CANCER. Skin cancer is scary shit, people. I am right to be cautious.

Thus far, it's just a mole.

Last night, I popped into the grocery store for a few, last minute dinner items. We move on Thursday. We're literally scrapping the fridge for fragments of food. We needed some stuff.

As the ball of fire and I were traipsing down the meat aisle (he holding his nose because he hates the smell of fish) I glance over and happen to notice the wart standing at the counter.

Ok, so it was attached to a person but I couldn't see past it. Huge, dark brown, slightly fuzzy -- it was eating this poor woman's chin!

I followed her down the chip aisle, stopping when she stopped to get a good look at it. Yes, my mole is pink. It annoys me. It's coming off as soon as we move. But I don't have a catepillar climbing my face, so there are worse things in the world, right?

Birth of a stalker

2009-03-05T11:26:00.003-06:00

I'm loving Chris's new album. It's completely different than his previous work but still soo... what's the word ... Chris.

It's so easy to see how stalkers come to be. I know if he met me, he would LOVE me!

The sponge that ate my brain

2009-03-02T21:01:00.002-06:00

Tonight during pre-bedtime TV viewing, the ball of fire was enjoying yet another episoide of Spongebob Squarepants. It happened to be one of my favorite, where Spongebob and Patrick play on hooks. Before I know what's happening, I said, "Hey, this is one of my favoirte episoides! Although 'Sailor Mouth' is my all-time favorite."

Without missing a beat, hubby says..

"Oh yeah! That's a good one, but my favorite is 'Spongebob Meets the Strangler. ' "

I laughed a little to myself, "That's a great one."

As I started up the stairs, I was brought to a dead halt by the realization that we just conducted an ENTIRE conversation about which cartoon is our favorite. Cartoon!! The couple that once quoted lines from "The Godfather" have become fans of a cartoon sponge with an annoying laugh.

There's no turning back now. We're officially parental units.

Don't go away mad, just go away!

2009-02-23T12:44:00.002-06:00

Have you heard we're in a recession? And did you also hear that said recession may have been caused by the giant mortgage bubble that burst and took most of the large banks with it? I know, crazy stuff, right?

So how is it that I slide into a new job, the hubby's company is going gangbusters and, AND we sold our house in two weeks? All good questions. These and many other important questions will never be answered in your lifetime, so just stop asking.

The truth is, we're doing so well, we should be frightened. And yet, somehow we're thriving. It's unheard of for a house to sell in two weeks right now. Forty-five days is the norm. The house we're buying has been on market for a year. And yet...

It defies explaination. So, I choose to ignore what I don't understand, listen to the new U2 album, which I may have gotten a little early and read about comets from infinity. That stuff freaks me out, it's so cool!!

Which one of you a-holes is going to help me pack?

Soupy sales

2009-02-15T21:14:00.002-06:00

You know that saying, "when it rains...it pours?" Hmmm...

I have a new job. I applied for it last Fall and never thought about it again. In January I went for an interview. I was pretty sure I was in top form and apparently I was right because they called back a few days later and offered me the gig. It's permanent part-time, with benefits and paid time off. Hello! It's also blocks from my house. And, wait there's more, it's a Web writing job -- my all-time favorite. It's a creamy dreamy lovey dovey kind of job. Of course I accepted.

At the same time, I mentioned to the hubby that I wanted to look inside this house that has been sitting empty for more than a year. I drive by. Wonder about the interior. Why won't someone buy this house? So we looked. And we bought.

Ok, we offered and now we have to sell our house. In two weeks we have a new job, with new benefits, a new house in the future and a brand-new for sale sign in the yard.

Does that count as pouring?

Phantom Menace

2009-01-26T10:42:00.003-06:00

The ball of fire is entranced by "Phantom of the Opera." Last week, in a harmless moment, I made a cup of tea with gallons of honey and decided to watch the movie version of Andrew Lloyd Webber's masterpiece. It's PG. We had a pint-sized guest. I was confident that if they ran through the room, they wouldn't see anything that would scar their impressionable minds. Little did I know.

They did run through. And stayed. And watched the whole thing. And loved it.

Great, right? It's better than Barney! Oh. Good. God. If I have to hear "Music of the Night" one more time, I may gouge out my own ears.

There is an upside. When the CD is finally silenced, he will sing the songs using his own words, which usually involves the activity of the moment. Have you ever heard the tune of "Point of No Return" sung about legos?

Stuck in her thumb, pulled out a ... ewww

2009-01-25T11:32:00.003-06:00

Watching my body change after my celiac diagnosis has been ... interesting.

On one hand, my weight settled easily into my ideal weight range. In fact, I'm a tad on the shallow end. I lost a whole bra size in that deal though, which is depressing. My digestive irregularities disappeared almost completely. My skin is glowing and my hair is actually growing. Believe it or not, that is a problem for curly hair. It doesn't grow so much long, as out and into a bush.

Despite being gulten free for almost a year, I still find funny ways to torment myself.

For example, last night the ball of fire --who was feeling very under-the-weather -- wanted to make chocolate chip cookies. I gave in. As I was scooping tablespoon-sized globs of gooey sweetness onto the cookie sheet, I noticed my thumb was itching like crazy. I finished the sheet, slid it in the oven and washed the cookie dough off. My thumb was red. Within minutes, three little hives popped up. I took a shot of Benadryl and sprayed the hives with Benadryl spray (best invention EVER).

The hives didn't last long, but presented a new layer of body issues. My sensitivity is actually heightened by the fact that I no longer have gluten in my body.

I called my mom, who I believe also has gluten sensitivty, to tell her about my latest discovery. I've been trying to convince her to go gluten-free for months. I think she's finally getting on the bandwagon.

We've been exploring the hereditary aspect of gluten intolerence for a while. I'm pretty sure my granny has some sensitivity, my mom and my sister.

I blame our Irish heritage. It's all that damn beer!

Lyrical

2009-01-17T11:20:00.004-06:00

The Killers are coming to town on May 2. I'm going, without a doubt although I'm not a big fan of their new song.

In the meantime, I'm waiting for the new album from Franz Ferdinand and I'm loving the new Fall Out Boy song. Seriously, lyrics like this are magic, pure magic!!

I don't care what you think, aslong as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness, in misery
Oh, take a chance, let your body get a tolerance,
I'm not a chance, but a heat wave in your pants

The price of love

2009-01-12T10:23:00.003-06:00

In a roundabout way, thanks to my friend Nona, I discovered Fluevog shoes.

I'm in love. And not like that one time, where I thought I was in love but really it was a deep-seated lust masquerading as love. Not this time. Love is coursing through my toes. Begging to be shod in the one-of-a-kind stitch witchery of John Fluevog.

Is $265 too much to pay for true love?

Oh my soul

2009-01-08T20:47:00.002-06:00

For Christmas, I was blessed with a brand new, red, shiny, 16 gig iPod that is begging for new music. Santa also left a few iTunes cards in my stocking. I was a very nice girl this year, apparently.

I'm craving a song I heard on the new FX show, "Sons of Anarchy." Pretty much if it's on FX, I watch it. It's a remake of an old gospel song called "John the Revelator" redone by Curtis Stigers. Not available.

The closest I've found was a cover from Gov't Mule. At least it has that old blues sound that makes the hairs stand up on my arms with pure pleasure that only an old steel guitar can create.

I'm still looking for "Shamma Lamma Ding Dong" by Otis Day and the Knights.

Yes, they are a real band.! Sheesh...

Excuses, excuses

2009-01-07T20:52:00.003-06:00

I've been busy. The holidays are maddening. I forgot my wallet. The dog ate my homework. My alarm didn't go off... You get the gist.

The hat is a gift from my mom especially for skiing. Cute, yes?

Color me in

2008-12-21T15:36:00.003-06:00

I've never had one of those cartoons done. You know the ones where your head and teeth are five times larger than your tiny little arms and legs? They are usually done at some booth along the fairway of the carnival or fair.

If I did, I can't imagine it would rival this piece of mastery. This perfectly captures my illogical love of shoes. I pulled it out and framed it for a position of importance in my dressing area.

I call it "a pussy in love."

Over sharing

2008-12-17T09:14:00.002-06:00

Sometimes, it doesn't pay to tell your friends that you are having mental issues. I base this theory on a text I received late last night, reprinted here for the world to share in my suffering...

Heard on the news someone checked into a psych ward wearing a thong and riding a goat. I'll come get you but THIS IS THE LAST TIME!

Venegence is mine, sayeth the blogger

2008-12-14T19:08:00.003-06:00

I have had a pretty good Christmas season. Whether it's the zoloft or my new outlook on life, it's been fairly smooth sailing. I had one major tantrum when my Dyson (the indestructible vacuum, my ass) stopped working, but even that I pulled myself through.

So imagine my surprise, shock and utter dismay when my so-called "friends" delivered an ugly Christmas sweater right to my front door.

You are freaking kidding me!! It's one of the worst ones I've ever seen. It's overflowing with gross glitter and beads and check out that zipper!!

Oh sure, there was a nice note about how I protested too much, and therefore they assumed I was secretly yearing for this sweater.

But little does she know that retribution is sweet and my love and admiration will be speeding to her door.

Beer gut

2008-12-13T18:53:00.004-06:00

I have been so good with my diet. At home, I adapt recepies to work around flour or eliminate ingredients that might cause a reaction. I cook often, trying lots of new menus that revolve around fresh fruits, vegetables and spices. I have a 1000 and 1 ways to cook chicken. So when I wanted to try this new cuban pork chop receipe, I was confident I could adapt and still enjoy a fine meal.

I did great. I replaced the three tablespoons of flour for cornstarch to thicken the sauce. I use an organic chicken broth (MSG free!) to add flavor. As that simmered, I broiled some chops, replete with olive oil and rubbed with cracked black pepper.

As I waited for the chops to cool before slicing, I added the final dash to my sauce -- one cup of the finest local wheat beer. I dumped it in.

Wait for it....

Motherfu---!

Wheat beer. Guess what. I can't eat wheat. I can't drink beer. I can't eat this dinner I just spent 40 minutes making.

Lucikly I hadn't dumped in the sliced meat so I saved a chop for myself and finished dinner for the family.

Sometimes it really sucks being an idiot.

Making Christmas

2008-12-05T12:33:00.003-06:00

If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know I'm not much of a Christmas cheermeister. In fact, I'm a raging bitch. But this year, I'm making an effort to find happiness where I can (thanks in part to the makers of Zoloft) and I'm starting with the Christmas sweater.

I hate Christmas sweaters. I mean, loathe and detest. They are ugly, gross and shapeless. So I created my own version of the Christmas sweater. I think it's rather nice, don't you?

Strike terror in the heart

2008-12-04T08:31:00.002-06:00

Last night, the ball of fire's preschool teacher said the most horrible thing any one has EVER said about my child. She said ... he's really good at math, not so great at reading.

As a writer, can you guess the subjects at which I excelled in school? Let's just say the only pi involved was the edible kind.

I am in mourning.

I will be chasing the Twilight

2008-11-23T19:02:00.004-06:00

I confess, I went to a matinee showing of "Twilight" today. And. I really liked it.

Yes, it's a teen drama. Yes, there was no nudity, not even a hint of sexuality but it was still very steamy. Yes, it's probably wrong that I enjoyed it that much, but I did.

Normally I'm drawn to the action-packed, gritty types. "Fight Club" and the "Godfather" top my list of favs. But every girl wants that sweep-you-off-your-feet romance that takes the breath from your lungs and squeezes your heart. It's enchanting. It's compelling. It's unnatural for a vampire to care for a human girl and want to protect her. Alright. It's weird.

I don't care. I like it.

And I really want her big sexy hair. A girl can dream, right?

A rose by any other name

2008-11-20T13:32:00.003-06:00

I'm a known link hopper. Anytime I'm online, if I see a link to something that interests me, I hit it. It's compulsory. I cannot stop myself. It's my (other) sickness. It's often led to hitting something inapprorpriate -- which I will later research at home.

To see a link with the title, "Behold the Power of Michelle," well, that's just a no brainer! This quick story on Slate is about the powerful Michelles in D.C., of which Michelle Obama is set to join.

What I don't get is why is this an article? I know it's interesting. I personally find it amusing. But newsworthy? Again, the pitfall of 24-7 media. When you have nothing left to write, you make it up!

When meeting another Michelle, Bernard always asks whether it's two L's or one. Over the years, she has noticed that Michelles tend to be taller, like herself and Obama, while Micheles tend to be shorter.

Shrinky-dinks

2008-11-17T15:30:00.002-06:00

Dr: "So how are you this week? Any new panic attacks?"

Me: "I had one a few nights ago. I was convinced I had MRSA growing in my nose."

Dr: "MRSA? Why... Where did you even hear about that?"

Me: "I read things."

Pause.

Me: "Ok, one of the designers had it on Project Runway last year."

Dr: puts his forehead in his hand. "I just don't even know where to start with that one."

Research

2008-11-10T09:38:00.004-06:00

I had a different post here today. One written when I was feeling the full affects of panic. I can't even read it now. It bothers me to feel like this. So I do some research instead:

Dept. of Gastroenterology, University of Naples, Italy: Depressive symptoms in adult celiac disease. Scand J Gastroenterol 1998; 33(3):247-50. This study explored depression experienced by adult sufferers of celiac disease (CD). Results showed that depressive symptoms are a feature of celiac disease, and are present in both childhood and adulthood diagnosed CD. Nutritional and vitamin supplementation to diet can be an effective method of treatment for CD, and can result in both physical and psychological improvement of the symptoms of the disease.

And an new alternative presents itself.

What else is there to say?

2008-11-05T08:27:00.002-06:00

I am very proud to be a voting American today. I am a part of history, I helped make this happen. And it's good history vs. the other historical moments I've seen: a sitting president who was impeached, two wars in the Middle East, some of the highest gas prices ever. He has everything in his court with this term, I hope he can deliver.

Contemplating naval lint

2008-11-02T20:35:00.005-06:00

I must admit, I like therapy. It's nice to have someone totally unjudgemental hear all your deepest worries and concerns. Someone who doesn't laugh when you mention your anxiety attack caused by a skirt that is a tad too tight.

It's hard to figure out what I'm riddled. I have no new stress. The part-time gig is great. My freelance gig is swinging. My health is actually top notch. The family is well-balanced and generally happy. What the hell is my problem?

My last attack was Friday when I woke in the middle of the night, frantic that my bottom lip was swelling in reaction to .... air? Who knows? It's not like I'd been eating at 2:30 a.m.

So I undertook a new, ridiculous, just-for-the-joy of it project.

As you may recall, I went through a post-adolescent love fest with the "Twilight" books. Last week, our local hometown newspaper launched a writing contest to continue the Twilight story. It's a 400 word job, it has to center around two characters and take place soon after the conclusion of the final book. Oh my mind, she is a-racing.

I've chosen Jasper and Alice. If you haven't read the books, please stop reading this post. I don't want you nay-saying to ruin my buzz.

I'd like to do something that centers on Alice's past, specifically her time in the assylum. Us crazies like to stick together.

I think I have the concept and storyline in place. I just need to add the pretty part. I'm still ambivilent about submitting. I'm afraid I'll be competing with a bunch of 16-year-olds, and will feel ashamed, but I should do things I enjoy, yes?

Yes! So I push forward, tap into my inner teen angst and see what comes out.

I might just need to see High School Musical 3 to help with the project. Teen drama research is required!

Attitude adjustment

2008-10-29T19:16:00.001-06:00

I have an appointment with that special doctor tomorrow.

Until then...self-medication.

Anxiety ants are dancing in my pants

2008-10-28T16:09:00.005-06:00

Lately I’ve had a problem. I have had a series of some of the most severe anxiety attacks of my life. I’ve been anxious before about a job, test, confrontation, etc. Usually I’ll have a high-anxiety moment and then I’ll get a grip. Of late, that grip is elusive.

Most of my anxiety seems to revolve around my health.

Last week I was sure I had a kidney infection that was quickly spiraling into renal failure. Over the weekend I was convinced that I had an ectopic pregnancy. I’m still not 100% sure that’s not a problem. Herpes, HIV, colitis, irritable bowl syndrome, COPD: I’ve got it.

Last Tuesday I suffered a panic attack because I just couldn't breathe. I was sitting at my desk at work trying to take deep breathes but nothing doing. I stood up, and tried again. Every time I felt restricted. I put my hands on my ribs ... and noticed that I failed to pull my skirt all the way down the last time I used the restroom. Deep breath achieved.

Now while this may seem humorous, it is not. I have very real symptoms with these attacks. I have trouble breathing, I can’t stand or sit. My left arm tingles and my back spasms. These are really major panic attacks. Once they subside, I usually have an emotional dump that leaves me in tears, shaking and exhausted.

The stress on the body leaves physical problems behind including skin bumps, fever blisters, itches, upset stomach and a loss of appetitie. All of those things cause me to panic further about my health.

I seem to be stuck in a downward spiral that no one -- including myself -- knows how to break.

This is one instance where my lust for information has been a detriment. Researching the symptoms of this malady or another usually leads to cancer, AIDS or some other life-ending, body-invading illness. Of course, my logical mind reasons that my chances of having any of these killers is so slim, it's not worth the worry. But worry seems to be exactly my problem.

And when it comes to worry, apparently I perform in my usual manner: balls to the wall.

I expect to be institutionalized by the end of the week. I'll give you the address so you can send me soduku books and paperback Danielle Steele novels.

Family

2008-10-21T18:04:00.004-06:00

Courtesy of Aunt Gina (who insists on calling herself Granny G. eventhough she's only 35. For crying out loud, woman!)

One in the same

2008-10-17T11:03:00.003-06:00

I'm obsessed with the Rachel Zoe Project for two reasons.

1. How can this really be someone's job? To dress the stars for red carpet events? No, I swear it's made up for TV ... except that she's been doing it for more than a decade and is considered one of the best in the field. Who knew!

And 2. I love nice clothes and shoes but this woman puts me to shame! She's into vintage designs which just blow my mind. I'd love to spend just 1 day wandering around in her closet.

This week, Jennifer Garner (known at our house as the hubby's surpreme object of lust) was talking about picking her dress for the Oscars. She mentioned that she was trying on two options and her husband walked through and actually stopped to comment on one. That's the one she picked because, and I quote, "he never notices stuff like that."

Ok. Hold the phone. Jennifer Garner has dimples to die for and once played a dominatrix on television. Not to mention she knows how to do all the moves for "Thriller." If her man doesn't notice what she's wearing then there is no hope for the rest of us poor schlumps!

What does a girl have to do for a little attention around here? Although that red leather outfit Jennifer wore in "Alias" might be a good start.

A slice above the rest

2008-10-13T12:29:00.004-06:00

Why have you people not told me about the Other Boleyn Girl? I made an impulse purchase at the book store a few weeks ago and picked it up. I had heard it was good, a tad trashy. I know there was a movie in the making.

But I also felt it might be a moot point. Everyone knows what happened to Anne Boleyn: declared a treasonous adulterer and lost her head at the Tower green in the Tower of London.

I must say, well done to Philippa Gregory. She took a very well-known story and added in layers of intrigue marked with desire, deception and the ultimate quest for power and wrapped it into a delicious novel that took me a day to devour.

While I know it is a work of fiction, and the lives of these girls is lost into the swiss cheese accounts of history, but she did a damn fine job of using her reserach and her imagination.

I was caught up, to say the least. And the characters were so richly drawn that at one point, I railled at Anne's cutthroat, tireless quest for the throne that betrayed not only her sister but her own soul.

There is not much better than a magnificent book. I plan on renting the movie although I already expect disappointment. Only a handful of movies have ever matched the passion I felt for the books. But I crave just a few more hours of the beautiful Boleyn girls.

King of crap

2008-10-09T07:19:00.003-06:00

Whenever I tell people I have celiac disease, I hear one common statement, "Oh, I could never give up bread. I love bread!!" (Insert pasta for bread if you prefer.)

Yes, you could. In fact, you would be thankful, on your knees praying to the goddess of skinny jeans, for finally figuring out why your body hates you.

I had no problems with switching my diet. It was worth it to lose the ulcer, irritable bowels, achy joints and the unexplained skin bumps on the back of my arm. Knowing that one donut would cause me days of cramps, bloating and the inability to leave the house for more than 20 minutes is more than enough encouragement to skip the glaze.

What I do miss is dinner out. I love to eat in restaurants, especially pan asian. For those of you who have known me for a while, you understand the loss I've felt when I realized that crab rangoon was no longer an option. My moaning could be heard for days.

Fortunately, over the past eight months, I've slowly figured out how to work the system. I know which restaurants have decent food that I can eat. I can order a sandwhich and pull the bun off -- and the top layer of lettuce -- and still have a nice lunch.

Last night, we were rushing to church and took a quick stop at Burger King. Before celiac, Burger King was the only fast food place I allowed. After celiac, well we still don't eat fast food.

Whopper with cheese, no onions, no mustard. I stripped the bun and sliced it up in the perfect little bites. It took 20 minutes before I knew that I had made an error.

Sometimes gluten hides in other foods that you don't consider wheat-based, including mayonnaise. It's used as a thickner to bulk up a usually runny product.

So here I was stuck in a room with 16 4th-6th graders practicing Christmas music. It always starts as a sharp pain on my left side, right under my ribs ... the former home of my much-maligned ulcer.

From there it rolls down the side and swells into jean busting bloat. Do you see where this is headed?

Luckily I made it home before final meltdown, but just barely. I've only had one incident where I was forced to explode in a public restroom, which I avoid at all costs.

Crapping my pants in front of a room full of kids? Oh God. That's just middle school all over again!

Word of the day

2008-10-08T14:15:00.002-06:00

Circumlocution (sir-kuhm-loh-KYOO-shuhn) noun -- The use of many words to express an idea that might be expressed by few; indirect or roundabout language.

When used, it sounds like this: Because you will be offering products, it is important that you and your associates have awareness and understanding of how these laws and regulations affect you.

Ummm...

See also: Presidential debate.

Unexplained bit about me

2008-10-01T12:31:00.002-06:00

I cannot explain why I like this song. It is not that great. The tune is very repetitve, as are the words. Yet everytime it pops on the radio, I turn it up!

Bailing, and more bailing

2008-09-30T08:11:00.004-06:00

Is anyone else obsessed with the financial bailout or is it just me? Following this story has taken up a large chunk of my time for the past week and a half. I find it fascinating. And not from the financial standpoint.

Obviously as a writer, I'm not well-versed enough to understand how the lending squeeze has pressured the T-Bill which results in the Dow dropping and so on and so forth. I don't know and I'm not so inclined to figure it out. Instead, I have a friend who is in the financial sector and when he starts pulling money from the bank to stuff in his mattress, then I'll be worried.

I'm more intriguied by the incendiary language in the media. Last week, Bush was asking for a bailout to re-establish a struggling market that was entering a recession. It was sweeping language, positive about how it would "rescue" us all from this crisis.

The stocks bounced.

Over the weekend, as Congress worked feverisly, the language changed again. By the time Bush was addressing the nation, this $700 billion dollar fuck up was shoring us up against "economic catastrophe."

Catastrophe? Really? Maybe he wasn't getting the appropriate amount of freaking out that he thought was necessary.

Despite the ensuing catastrophe, the bailout obviously failed and the language changes yet again. We're in a financial "meltdown" that requires a financial plan to rescue us from "severe consequences."

I love that words can be so powerful but is that kind of dire verbiage necessary? Yes, the markets are tight, but not tighter than after 9/11 and surprisingly, we survived. Remember Enron? The APR on a money market account went from 5 percent to .8 over night. Anyone recall the dot.com bubble? When that bubble burst, more than $5 trillion when flying out the door.

So it makes me wonder, who is this inciting who? And more importantly, for what purpose?

My Match and Me

2008-09-24T09:16:00.001-06:00

Someone has signed me up for Match.com. Ok, so someone didn’t sign me up, per se. Rather a lovely girl with the screen name cajunbaby12 signed up and mistakenly used my e-mail address.

Today I had my first round of potential mates appear as if by magic in my in-box. I was tempted to hit delete and return to my usual e-mail – Borders.com, BabyCenter.com, New York & Company, Nordstrom’s, the New Yorker and Rolling Stone. But, I could not pull my eyes away from Chopperjay -- 5’8 with sandy hair, a smart goatee, visible tattoos and a passion for all things music and motorcycles. Nice!

In turn, he likes girls with long hair (shoulder-length?), bold personalities (smartass?) and who likes public displays of affection (tongues?) and to go skinny dipping (on a moonless night when the stretch marks are less visible?).

I was lucky to find the hubby when I was young and in college. I don’t have to date as a 30-something mom who has lots of baggage – most of it under my eyes.

I have single friends who use these services and have little or no luck. It makes me wonder, what are these guys really looking for? A long-term relationship or a rocking good time with a tattooed freak who likes to hump and strip in public? Which really begs the question: Do men ever grow up?

Wiki-Wiki-Wow-Wow

2008-09-23T20:04:00.004-06:00

I crammed and jammed on a quickie wiki today at the part-time writing gig.

Normally I enjoy a good quickie, but this one was particularly stressful. Yet, I was so proud of myself for pulling something together on short notice, and I was very careful to comply with Wikipedia's strict standards.

Yes, my friends, Wikipedia has standards. I know it seems hard to believe but they won't let any old trash post on this site. It is user driven but informational, verging on educational, in nature.

When I was finished, I was pretty pleased with my final product. It was informational, not advetorial and complied with all of our brand standards.

So imagine my surprise when I hit the page this evening only to find it FLAGGED for speedy deletion. Holy shit. I expected some concerns because the information was pulled directly from our site. Possible copyright infringement if we didn't own the data.

But what ticked me off was the addition of a peacock flag: This article or section may contain peacock terms: wording that promotes the subject in a subjective manner without imparting real information.

Real information? Other than our own Web site, there is very little about our association in the e-world. So adding a Wikipedia will further encourage proliferation. Yes, all the facts in my little entry are ours, but damnit, they are real.

Viva La Wiki!

Post Script: Bastards deleted it. Back to the pen.

Post Post Script: And blocked my username so I can't add anything again. Great. This is shaping up to be a real pain.

It’s easy to be green

2008-09-18T13:52:00.002-06:00

My green story progresses. In the meantime, I'm sourcing the "expert" to lend some authority. A co-worker says, "Hey, what about Ed Begley?" Why not? So I e-mail his Web site. Dude, he e-mailed me back! Nice!

In the meantime, here's the lovely little sidebar that will eventually appear, not yet property of the part-time gig, but will be soon. Please note that I said taking care of the environment is a GLOBAL responsiblity... stole that from Barack Obama. With love, of course.

Going green is doable. There are small steps that every individual can take. Caring for the planet is a global responsibility, but here are few things you can do in your own space.

Reduce, reuse, recycle: Most garbage collection companies offer an additional recycling option. For as little as a few dollars a month, they provide recycling containers and take most paper, cardboard and plastic products. According to National Geographic, simple recycling cuts up to 1,000 pounds of annual carbon dioxide emissions.

Be green, buy green: In addition to recycling, buy products with that are easily recycled, such as paper or glass. For example, when you buy juice, choose the paper carton instead of the plastic jug.

See the light: Replacing just one 75-watt incandescent bulb with a 19-watt CFL cuts 75 pounds of carbon dioxide emissions per year and up to 750 for the life of the bulb.

Take it to the tap: According to National Geographic, “only 10 percent of plastic water bottles that make it into the recycling bin. If you must have them, recycle the empties. If you can live without, that’s even better. Tap water meets stricter federal and local standards for chemical contaminants, and drinking tap water helps eliminate the waste associated with single-use plastic bottles.”

Drink on the go: Still want to take your drink in the car? A reusable #2, #4 or #5 plastic or stainless steel water bottle is a worthy, earth-easy replacement for that single-serve plastic bottle of water or juice.

Wishy-washy: Appliances are energy suckers, but in some cases, they are the better alternative. A great example is dishwasher versus hand washing. Hand washing dishes can actually use up to 50 percent more water than a water-saving, energy-efficient dishwasher. Make sure you’re using an Energy Star-rated model, which is 41 percent more efficient than the federal standard. And only run full loads, and don’t waste time and water pre-rinsing dishes.

Green and clean: Green cleaners have slowly infiltrated the market in recent years. Despite the worry that the cleaning power is subpar, most cleaners are very efficient and deliver the same kind of clean but with less toxicity and harmful residue. And, according to National Geographic, “Green cleaners are also healthier; they have fewer volatile organic compounds that can trigger asthma and other respiratory problems, and rarely do they contain chemicals that can poison you or your children or cause serious skin reactions if spilled.”

Aerate to be great: Does your sink use an aerator? It’s surprisingly cheap but effective way to save water. They cost as little as $.75 and cut water consumption by up to 6 percent.

It’s in the bag: Paper or plastic? How about neither? Another growing trend, carting groceries in canvas bags is a popular option. In the U.S. alone, 12 million barrels of oil are used a year to make plastic sacks. Paper bags, while more easily recycled, generate 70 percent more air pollution during manufacturing.

Want more green ideas? Log onto http://www.earthlab.com/ to measure your carbon footprint and find out how you – and your state—rank.

Taste sensation

2008-09-16T18:20:00.003-06:00

I admit, I'm somewhat of a hippie under cover. I cruise the aisles of the health food store. I worry about green issues and insist the hubby leave his grass clippings lie. I've been known to buy local fruits, veggies and honey. I've started and abandoned several gardens and I've thought seriously about composting.

But that's where it ends. I still like high-heels with leather uppers and I insist on chemically treating my hair and my face in a desperate attempt to fight advancing age -- or at least trick unsuspecting younger men into thinking I too am unsuspecting and young. I am neither.

So this week, it's not suprising to find me visiting the local health food in search of more supplements to bolster my immune system.

Food in the health food store is not good. Let's just get that on the table now. It smells -- and often tastes -- much the same as rabbit food. And yes, I've tasted those weird grass pellets fed to rabbits. I know of which I surmise. They are selling grass shaped like energy bars.

But for some reason, I'm an idiot. There was a juice. I like juice but I am very particular. No weird sugars or high fructose corn syrup allowed. Of course, this was all natural, filling, cleansing, invigorating and tastes like ambrosia. Well, I had to try a sample.

If you were to mix broccoli juice, a cauliflower fart and urine with the faint tinge of asparagus, you might, might have an idea of what this shit tasted like.

And now it was in my mouth.

I was faced with the age-old dilemma that has plagued women since the beginning of time -- Spit or Swallow.

I opted to hold with precedent and gagged it down. What I couldn't control was the faces and noises I made afterward. Hacking, gagging, blah, blah, blah with the tongue. It wasn't pretty.

After I choked and sputtered for a while, my eyes streaming with the effort to control the heaving. I look over to see the ball of fire staring me down. I smile and say most sweetly, "Son, do you want to try a drink?"

His eyes widened a bit.

I held out the small plastic cup, sloshing the contents temptingly.

He walked over and tipped the rim toward his nose, took a big sniff.

"No way, man. It smells like Toby barf up."

I took a big whiff. Damn, he was right. If I had bothered to smell it before I drank it, I would have never tried it either.

"Sure you don't want to try it anyway?"

"Nope. I'm going to go stand by the car."

Chicken shit.

Back to black

2008-09-13T17:56:00.002-06:00

Among the Angels

2008-09-09T08:50:00.001-06:00

The bass pounds in my chest with a rhythm that curls my very backbone. I’m nodding my head in time, bouncing on the balls of my feet. This is my kind of place -- loud, raucous, obnoxious. The tattooed outnumber the tattooless. The bartender wears a necktie over his sleeveless white tee shirt, coal black eyeliner rims his red eyes. The waitress is wearing a Catholic schoolgirl uniform with fishnet stockings and combat boots. With my black hair – streaked with blonde – freckles and ample cleavage, I’m a foundling rescued from the woods.

My two friends follow me around the bar, looking for an unobtrusive position to observe the nightlife. A milieu of boys mill around, making comments in our ears and moving away after a lackluster reception. We’re here to observe, drink and soak up a rare girl’s night out.

A preppy type leans in to ask my friend a question. I see her shake her blonde head no. He squishes up his nose and moves away.

My turn to lean in.

“He just asked me if I farted,” she yelled.

“Oh my God, that is so rude,” I yelled back.

“Yeah! I told him I didn’t. But actually, I did!”

The sound of our howling laughter was lost in the masses.

Kings of the radio

2008-09-08T13:45:00.003-06:00

I'm not previously a big fan of Kings of Leon but the two new songs I've heard from their forthcoming album are kicking the base on my iPod lately.

This one, "Crawl," is awesome.

And "Sex on Fire is" just fucking hot! Why are videos always so weird? Anyone, anyone?

Beans, beans, the musical fruit

2008-09-03T13:02:00.001-06:00

I’m finishing up my research for my green perspective article. I still struggle with how to package the information. Green individual? Given. Green business? More difficult. Green living? Possible. Will green save the Earth? Who the hell knows. That data seems to be missing. Or I’m not performing the correct Yahoo searches.

So I try again. I type “green” in the search bar. Before I even finish the word, Yahoo is already listing possible matches. The top three: Green Day (nice!), Green Bay Packers (puke) and Green Bean Casserole. What the hell?

Now I have new questions. Are green bean casseroles that thoroughly researched? Who wants to know? And why?

Did you know that a green bean casserole is the ultimate holiday side dish? It’s one of the most requested family favorites for Thanksgiving.

In 2005, this savory dish – sometimes served with crispy onions atop – celebrated 50 years of gracing the dinner table.

The two most important ingredients: green beans, cream of mushroom soup. Some of the most common additional ingredients: rice, chicken and cheese.

One serving of green bean casserole (a mere 1/2 cup) has 7 grams of fat, 4 grams of sugar, 130 calories and 730 mg of sodium. The average casserole serves 12, but most people eat three to five servings without realizing it.

To burn the calories from one small serving of green bean casserole, you could walk for 36 minutes, jog for 15, swim for 11 minutes or ride a stationary bike for 20 minutes.

In seven minutes of yahoo searches, I have learned more about green bean casserole than a whole morning of searching for stats on how environmental measures impact the health of the planet.

In fact, the closest thing I found was a game, hosted by Starbucks ironically, that features environmental choices and how your decisions impact a fictional planet.

Our planet – on the other hand – is apparently not as important as our love for green bean casserole. Thankfully Thanksgiving is not in any danger!

Tick Tock

2008-08-29T12:59:00.003-06:00

Last night we heard the good news that my newest sister-in-law is expecting. This is her first baby, which is always exciting. And it relieves some of the pressure and concern on when my egg cycle will bloom again.

Truthfully, I've been hearing the steady tick of my body's clock for a while now. Baby, baby, baby beats in my brain. I would have another baby tomorrow if I could pick one up at the store. It's the pregnancy hurdle that stalls my wish.

The hubby and I discussed it again this weekend. We both know that I am not one of "those women." The women who pop out babies every two years, who "try" to get pregnant. I, on the other hand, am an accidental pregnancy waiting to happen.

I remember the joys of pregnancy -- the first whisper of a wiggle, a belly swelled tight, round and pearlescent as a gibbous moon, the kicks, cravings and constant need to pee.

I also distincly remember the trials -- a ridiculous labor that ended with an incubation bed meant for a nascent premie and not my nine-pound boy. The vast feeling of failing the one I loved most in the world settling like a tombstone on my chest.

Every pregnancy is different. I've heard it 100 times. But this body remains the same. It didn't handle it well before, will it be better the second time? This winter I will mark the dreaded 35 -- a high-risk pregnancy. A mature, older woman pregnancy. Extra cause to worry.

I cannot wait to watch my sister-in-law bloom with baby, and even more the opportunity to snuffle a new downy head.

But in the back of my concious, I wonder when it will be my new downy head that I snuggle next.

Greenie weinie

2008-08-28T12:28:00.002-06:00

One of the difficulties of being a writer is always originality. There are very few topics left undiscussed, even moreso in the age of citizen journalism and citizen reserachers.

So last December when we cobbled together our year-long editorial calender for the magazine, we opted to make the November-Decemeber issue a green issue.

Because there is a topic we haven’t discussed ad nauseum.

I started some basic research today with no idea how to present this issue any differently. The Democratic National Convention is holding a green event. I snagged a few tips from their site.

Al Gore. Yeah, he’s got a thing or two to share.

What else? How do I repackage this information to be pertinent, useful and above all, interesting to my audience?

In my own life, I can see the green message is taking root. I’ve always been a fan of recycling. Now my neighbors are as well. My Aunt Connie for years has sewn her own bags to carry groceries home from the store. Today, the grocery store will gladly sell you the canvas bag to transport your milk. Ride sharing, fuel-economy, the growth of the local produce industry, bee keeping, there are so many ways to add a little more green to your life.

What I don’t know is just how impactful these measures are. Has it really made a difference? And if so, how? What else can we add? If it’s as easy as carrying a bag or two for purchases, then we can all participate. If we have to start biking to work, I don’t see that happening. What I want to know is, how can I really, truly make a difference and by how much?

I popped over to earthlab.com and measured my carbon footprint. Overall, not too bad, I’m lower than the national average, much lower than the Missouri average.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still slowly killing the whales with my gas guzzling SUV, but that damn low-pressure shower head makes all the difference in the world.

Metal-lick-ya

2008-08-27T07:39:00.002-06:00

One of my favorite lines from a song was writen by Metallica: “Then it comes to be the soothing light at the end of the tunnel is just a freight train headed your way.”

I love the irony of it. Coupled with the heavy bass riff and nasty growl of James Hetfield and it’s a musical match made in heaven.

It was a mutual lust of all things heavy metal that brought the hubby and I together. He actually went to a stadium concert with Metallica and Guns N’ Roses before we started dating, but I knew right then that we were destined to be.

So it is with great anticipation I’m watching the streaming downloads from Metallica’s newest album, “Death Magnetic” which is due Sept. 12. Reviews have been far and few between.

I’ve heard a few of the songs making the rounds on the local rock station. The first line: “Born to push you around. You better just stay down.”

Oh yeah, I can feel the mosh pit anger pulsing in my blood already.

Because it feels good

2008-08-25T14:07:00.002-06:00

I've been scouring the Internet for a Fight Club tee shirt that makes my tits look big. Found this instead.

Sure, gas prices are high and it costs a mortgage payment to feed your family, but there are still good things in the world.

Bitch slap

2008-08-17T13:31:00.009-06:00

I have been trying to post a blog since Friday. It was going to be one of those sloppy, sappy mommy entries about my son's 5th birthday. It was sure to include all the funny little quips he made through the day about how he could still do all the things he did when he was four, just better. And it would include a picture of him and I standing nose to nose when he was super excited about one of his presents.

Well, fuck that.

I have been trying to post a stinking picture for three days and it is always sideways. I have edited this stupid effing picture a dozen times and every time I post ... sideways.

So fuck it. Here it is. Sideways. Seems appropriate in retrospect.

Stand to the side, freaky

2008-08-14T22:21:00.002-06:00

My grandmother has this saying, in her day, you had to pay a nickle to look behind the curtain and see the carnival freaks. Today, you simply watch reality television.

I was recently watching the latest epidsode of "Project Runway" and one of the contestents ripped off a statement so damn good, I literally wrote it on the back of my very-important-folder-of-freelance-work.

Then I read it aloud .... a lot.

"Ain't nobody sucking on my titties, so you better man up."

I don't think I could live without TV.

Love that boy

2008-08-09T22:43:00.000-06:00

In my quest to finish a mammoth freelance job for the yet-to-be-named tax prepartion company, I've been spending many nights folded up on the couch, the heat of the laptop warming the dimples on my thighs and a random movie playing in the background.

A few nights ago, I watched a largly unheard-of title, "Loverboy."

For the record, I am a momma. You may have heard me mention that before. But the ball of fire is my first, and currently only, favorite person in the world. I understand that mother/child bond. How it takes every preconceived notion of love and turns it upside down. How you can feel the desire to literally give your life for the happiness and safety of another.

There's a line from a church hymn, "It is the call of my heart to follow you.." That's the best summation of motherhood for me.

Of course, in the genre of movie-making, you take the normal and twist it to the extreme, as was in the case of this movie. She couldn't take it when her son's teacher took much interest in her son... emphasis on the HER son. I've felt that as well. I guard my time with my son with fervor from everyone including the hubby. He's my boy.

This Friday is my boy's 5th birthday. While I still grapple with his daily rejection of my company for that of his blonde siren next door (8 year olds, how can I compete?) there is also joy in watching him change, wondering what kind of man he will be. I only hope it's a man who really loves his momma.

Mad love

2008-08-05T18:44:00.001-06:00

Oh lordy... I might have an obsession of my own.

The seat of power

2008-08-05T13:38:00.004-06:00

I can't believe I'm typing this. I never thought things would go this far. I'm almost ashamed to share this in a public forum, so many people I know will be shocked, possibly disappointed by my admission.

However, I can't keep it to myself any longer. I am in love with a toilet seat.

Ok, so it's not that drastic, but I am rather fond of this particular bowl at work. Normally I'm shy of placing my baby-soft bottom on foreign surfaces. I'm a lid-wiper, toilet-paper-spreader or seat-coverer. I don't like dampness that is not my own to marr my skin. I need the illusion of clean even as my mind rejects the possiblity. I'm so uptight about it that I have been known to walk directly out of a facility if it's just too nasty at first sight. I have my standards.

And then I met "huggie bowl." I can't put my finger on the appeal. The back of the seat hugs my bottom in a welcoming caress. It's never cold. It's never damp. It cradles me, pulls me into an intimate embrace.

I'm only at the part-time gig two days a week. Two days to revel in plastic dreams. Two days of tinkling delight. And then it's back home where my sad normal toilet needs to be cleaned because the ball of fire and the concept of aiming are still at odds.

I still can't believe I just blogged about a toilet. That exemplifies the sheer power of this bowel. Power to the pee-pee!

Pet

2008-08-03T17:33:00.003-06:00

Me: "Oh Good Lord! That is so disgusting."

Ball of Fire: "What! What! Tell me!"

Me: "Come look for yourself. It's the grossest thing ever."

He peers around my waist to stare into the sink.

Ball of Fire: "Is it a kitten? Or a squirrel?"

Me: "Umm, neither. It's a bunch of mommy's hair that I just pulled from the drain."

Ball of Fire: "Oh, I just thought we had a new pet or something. Never mind."

Me: .....

Beginnings

2008-07-30T16:44:00.003-06:00

Literature and I are twins punched from the same ream of paper. I cannot live without it, and it taunts me.

I've been on a reading jag of children's literature, skimming through one teen drama after the next. Easy but fun reading. Highly enjoyable.

This week I picked up a more mature novel. The title compelled me: My Name is Will. A Novel of Sex, Drugs and Shakespeare.

From the first page, I was not disappointed.

Though he didn't know it, the mushroom's cap was exactly the size and shape of Queen Elizabeth I's left tit. Willie also didn't know that the guy sitting up front, near the driver was a narc. And he also didn't know quiet how he -- a graduate student in literature, and according to his mother, the next William Shakespeare -- had ended up as a drug runner. But he did know that the woman sitting next to him was giving him a boner.

I'd say that's among the most classic first lines of a novel, right next to "Call me Ishmael."

Float like a butterfly, but stings like a mothafu..

2008-07-28T13:41:00.004-06:00

I must admit, I am a lazy, lazy girl.

Earlier this year, when I went through a particularly stressful time with my body, I discovered I have celiac disease. I can't remember if I ever mentioned that here, but that was the cause from my giantic hives. It's not uncommon to trigger this disease after something particularly stressful happens, such as surgery or giving up a girl's trip to Italy. Please also note that teenagers with this disease can have growth issues which make them short (argh, mom!) ... but that's just an aside.

I can say that eliminating gluten from my diet has resulted in some very positive changes in my health, which include eliminating the ulcer that I've had for years, clearing up some skin issues, oh, and losing 30 pounds. That's right. Thirty big ones off my hips. I was never a chunky person before, more round and soft in those special girl spots. Now I'm still fairly soft, but much less round, but a lot more -- how do you say -- swingy. I need to firm up, and soon.

Here's where the lazy part comes in. I don't do much excercise. My surgeon mentioned that this kind of invasive procedure could make me fairly tired and sore for up to a year. Well, I took that as the perfect excuse to do some really low-impact yoga as my source of excercise. And that's about it.

It's been almost 8 months. I could probably step it up a little at this point.

So Saturday I agreed to attend a kick-boxing class with my friend JC. Holy fuck. There are no names for the places that are sore on my being at this moment. My bone marrow is sore. I'm not freaking kidding!

I had bruises on my knuckles and my ankles from kicking the bag. I was doing a lot of eye rolling at the instructor at the beginning of the class when he made us dance on our tiptoes, ala Mohammed Ali. By the end of the class when we worked the bag with uppercuts, hooks and punches, I was feeling pretty damn confident. So much so, that I will probably take the class again.

And then I have one or two people I want to punch in face if I can get them to stand still at just the right angle. "No, not there, over to the left. Yeah, that's it. Right there. Now close your eyes for a big suprise, asshole!"

Fate

2008-07-24T07:27:00.002-06:00

It was inevitable I would love this band. Seriously. He's funny! And he's playing the guitar for his baby girl. I love how the accoustics change from the hallway to the stairwell. He plays the guitar like he loves it so much, he can't keep his hands off it. That's why I love the guitar as well.

Ok, give me until the end of the week and then I promise, I won't talk about the Foo Fighters for at least ... what ... two weeks?