Here's to good friends, tonight is kinda special...

So my darling husband decided to be nice to me in my hour of emotional and physical need and take Alex to his guitar and drum lesson last night. I originally had planned on relaxing on the deck with a book and a glass of chardonnay (trader joe's, btw...it's very nice) But then I decided to ring up an old friend. My gorgeous roommate from college (who is still gorgeous at 35 after 2 kids, I secretly hate her a little) emailed me out of the blue the other day. We chit-chatted via email and caught up. Well I looked up her number and got her on the phone. We talked for the next 2 hours. It was great! Owen kept pacing past the sliding glass doors. "Wanna play croquet?" "I found some new yu-gi-oh cards on ebay" "Are we eating dinner?"

I guess I should have warned Cindy that I had muscle relaxer before I called her...and I had two glasses of wine during that conversation...oops. But I was still able to make dinner! Granted, it was 9:15 and I was making hot dogs and baked beans, but still! They weren't just any hot dogs...they were NATHAN's hot dogs. Brilliant. You know how we have Vienna Beef in the entryways of the Lowe's and Home Depot's out here? Well in PA, they have Nathan's...it's a NY institution and I love them. I recently discovered that they sell them here at the Wiseway and I splurge every now and again.

While the family ate we watched a re-run of "America's Got Talent" on Bravo. Have you seen this train wreck of a show? It's awesome! Some Brit, Brandy and David-fucking-Hasselhoff, otherwise known as "the man who cried when Taylor Hicks won American Idol", are the judges. And basically it's an advanced version of the gong show...where they can buzz people to stop them from embarrassing themselves. Some are really good, some are horrible. Like the 75 year old male stripper...but last night, little 11 year old Bianca Ryan blew me away. If you follow this link to the show's recap site you can see a video of her singing. Unbelievable. The Brit told her to change her hair, change her dress, change her shoes (thank the Lord, those white shoes were hideous) and she would win this thing. I completely agree.

Well, I know the Raganites don't have to work on Monday. I'll be here with bells on. Hopefully you all have a great weekend!

Well it seems I owe you an apology...

Sorry I haven't been around much this week guys, but this morning my boss walked in and announced that tomorrow is his last day. Yeah, that's right...I'm the only systems geek here now. Holy shit. Usually techies have to give at least a 30 day notice...I get 2. 2 days to learn stuff I don't know. I'd like to think I can figure it out...but he does the windows stuff. I am not a windows girl for crap's sake. I'm the cool unix back-end, backup, firewall girl. aaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhh. Remember how I was wondering how they could possibly be paying an IT staff this large for a small firm. Well, this is how. I am freaking out.

In other news Brittany Spears is pulling a Demi Moore and being all naked with her pregnant self on some magazine that I would never buy in a million years. Why? Why is this necessary? Is it PR rebuttal for that absolutely HORRID interview she did with Matt Lauer? Did you SEE that train wreck. She was wearing a tank top with her pregnant breasts spilling over the top...she had JBF hair (can't afford stylists, sweetie??) and was chewing gum. CHEWING GUM. On national TV, while talking to Matt Lauer....seriously...am I her PR person? Because of course I would have thought that was FINE, but we all know that I should just.shut.up.

The Republicans are at it again...gay marriage, flag burning, what's next? English as the National Language? I find it hilarious that they are so against "big government" until it involves them trying to shove the church up my ass and let the Bible dictate my constitutional amendments. Hey Washington, here's a clue...if the BIBLE is your defense for an amendment - then it shouldn't be an amendment. Yes, it's clear that the states don't support gay marriage. Well if that's the case, why do we need an amendment when the states are handling it just fine? Oh yeah, midterm elections. And Ann Coulter? Someone needs to take her down a notch. I do not understand why she gets so much press. Let me get this straight. The widows of 9/11 are "broads" because they are "happily" making money off their husbands deaths...but you are what? a saint for making money off a book calling them names? There are a lot of laws that were founded because victims families stood up and made sure that nothing tragic like that could happen to other people, why should these WOMEN be afforded any less luxury if our own government is partially to blame for what happened. And how dare she call me Godless. Last time I checked only Jesus was supposed to judge...but apparently she's got the market cornered. Whatever. Tiffany, I hope you're loving this, I'm on a roll.

I'm too pissed off and crabby these days to make any sense over what I'm seeing on the news. And I'm paying over $3.00 a gallon for gas, and $50 for a bottle of muscle relaxers that I can't function without because my specialist is too damn busy to see me and tell me if and what is wrong with me. Education is plummeting, medical expenses and gas expenses are rising, minimum wage is apparently good enough even though inflation is on the rise and the fucking grand old party wants to base it's platform for re-election on THIS???? Sweet Jesus, I'm moving to Canada.

I'll bring the funny back, I swear...once the pain subsides and I figure out everything I need to know here. Give me until Wednesday...a good drunk over the holiday will do me some good. I hope my sister-in-law is making marguaritas...

Layoffs suck, and other obvious statements...

I'm not feeling very bloggy today.

I had my MRI this morning. Laying on my back with my shoulder in this condition is not my idea of a good time. Both of my hands went completely numb. She gave me an emergency button to push if I panicked the in the small space. Hey, great idea...if I could FEEL the button. It was bad, folks. I didn't even realize how bad it was until it was happening.

Then I had to sit there for an hour before they drew my bloodwork. I used to work in a hospital. DRAWING BLOOD - we never had people waiting for an hour. Even on a Saturday morning. Head 'em up, move 'em out. Seriously...they need a better system over there. They're going to get an earful in my survey. Pre-register my ass. A lot of good that did me.

I get to work, the power is out...for miles. Fantastic. The power comes up and the man in the corner office sends an email that they are laying people off today. The hits just keep on comin'. A moment of silence for my beloved sugar snap pea who was the first to fall to the almighty axe.

So yeah, I don't feel much like being witty, or funny...
Anyone got a joke?

Life's a beach...

What a great weekend!

Friday night found me and the Tigger eating pasta and having beers and chit chat on her front porch. The most amazing thing in the world to me? The fogger trucks. Do they have this in Chesterton? Valpo? This pick up truck drives around and fogs for mosquitoes. BRILLIANT. We can barely get them to drive around and deliver the mail and you guys are getting fogged!

Saturday Owen finally got his Heely's. OMG. He's so excited he can hardly stand it. We got Mr. Big Foot a size 8...there is a little room to grow, which is good, because it may take him awhile to get the hang of it. After the Sports Authority we left Owen with Alex practicing his Heely's work in the parking lot while we dashed into the Old Navy...is that wrong...to abandon your children on wheels in the parking lot? It's harder than it looks, rolling around on your heels. Gazelle that I am I would never get the hang of it.

On to Michigan!! We stopped at Redamak's...yummmmm! It had been a long time since I'd been there. Kevin and I couldn't even remember if we'd ever been there together, that's how long it's been. I know in the summer of beer Steffen and I went there. Of course, that was his "standard date" location...I think I paid my own way that night just so I wouldn't be classified as a date. ;) Anyway - any place that offers me green olives on my burger is a-okay in my book. The boys loved the shakes and we had chili cheese fries...I LOVE vacation weekends! Stumbled into the antique barn next door - the guy was willing to make deals and I bought some accessories to my wine bottle foyer.

We checked in early and picked up some beers. More Heely's practice for Owen. Julie, Chris & H arrive...yay! We putz around the room catching up and eventually make it to the wine fest. 9 wineries, reggae playing...I sent the boys to the beach. The water was great for swimming. I could have left Alex there all day.

My favorite wines:
Karma Vista - Pink Side of the Moon, Kevin and Julie LOVED the Starry Starry White
I didn't like a gosh darn thing from St. Julian, sorry.
Contessa - Divino. A blend of whites. This was really great...but I don't see it on their website. When we go back in July I'm going to have to find this!
Round Barn, Free Run Cellars, Lemon Creek, Domaine Berrien - nothing stuck with me.
Fenn Valley - their Reisling was fantastic
Warner - best Cabernet in the place. GREAT finish - jack ass guy behind the counter. He was in some floral shirt and kept popping on his sunglasses and talking like a surfer. I don't think it was an act. I think this is actually how he talked. It wasn't cute or funny...it was annoying. Shut up and pour.

The tent was big and they had lots of tables outside near where the bands were playing. Reggae, blues, jazz by Liquid Soul. We only heard the first two...the set of pipes on Lady Sunshine and the X Band...fantastic. They made it a really good time and lots of people were up and dancing. I would absolutely attend this again, and based on the fantastic turn out, I'm sure this will be a yearly thing that will only get bigger and better.

I stuck with the Divino while we were there. Kevin stuck with the Riesling. Chris kept asking where the beer was. Back at our hotel. So that's where we went for pizza and beer and cards. But not until we saw some guy passed out at the fest. Ah...the kids don't realize that wine is more powerful than they know. You must pace yourself....or you end up face first in front of the concession stand with paramedics putting salts under your nose. That is not what I call a great day at the beach. And what was his excuse...men only absorb 1/2 the alchohol they drink! It's true! We are genetically manufactured to get us drunk and take advantage of us! Men have the superior stomach enzymes for consuming alcohol...NOT fair. They don't have to bleed once a month...no pushing out babies...they get the higher pay scale...they NEVER have to wear pantyhose (well, some CHOOSE to)...and now...NOW we find out they can process alcohol better. I cry genetic party foul!

Sunday brunch at the Cracker Barrel. yummmmmmmm. Then we went up to St. Joe to find our vacation house that we're renting in July...Sweet Sara's. It's gorgeous and the people who own it couldn't be nicer. Cannot wait until July. Kevin and the boys are totally pumped up to go there. Pray to the weather gods that all will be well. We will be in VERY close proximity to both Contessa, Fenn Valley and Karma Vista wineries...BRILLIANT. Hurry up July!

Embarrassing moments? I know from embarrassing...

grace: n.
1. Seemingly effortless beauty or charm of movement, form, or proportion.
2. A characteristic or quality pleasing for its charm or refinement.
3. A sense of fitness or propriety.
4.
1. A disposition to be generous or helpful; goodwill.
2. Mercy; clemency.
5. A favor rendered by one who need not do so; indulgence.
6. A temporary immunity or exemption; a reprieve.
7. Graces Greek & Roman Mythology. Three sister goddesses, known in Greek mythology as Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and Thalia, who dispense charm and beauty.
8.
1. Divine love and protection bestowed freely on people.
2. The state of being protected or sanctified by the favor of God.
3. An excellence or power granted by God.
9. A short prayer of blessing or thanksgiving said before or after a meal.
10. Grace Used with His, Her, or Your as a title and form of address for a duke, duchess, or archbishop.
11. Music. An appoggiatura, trill, or other musical ornanment in the music of 16th and 17th century England.

This definition brought to you by dictionary.com. I was talking yesterday about my most embarrassing moments. They all have to do with grace, and my lack thereof.

I've mentioned before that I cannot and should not run. Ever. There are 3-toed sloths that look more attractive running than I do. It's a fact, I've learned to live with it. But the fact remains that really, I shouldn't walk, either. It's ugly. Hideous in fact. My darling husband used to compare my walking to our beloved Great Pyrenees, Barney. Who had hip dysplasia and severe arthritis. His hair was so thick that if he got wet, he literally could not lift his ass off the ground. He walked very slowly, and like he had a slinky in his hind quarters. This, apparently, is me. My walking through the office holding a heavy object has caused my boss to stop and point and laugh from afar. I'm not kidding.

So grace is not usually a term associated with me in any way. None of my features are graceful...Audrey Hepburn I am not. I have no chin...and therefore no profile. My ears are misaligned, which means my glasses are crooked, by design. One shoulder is higher than the other. To the point that my sleeves hang funny. My left foot is bigger than my right and both feet are flat. My chest is too large. My smile is crooked. Not crooked in my teeth are nasty kind of way, crooked in a "you can see more gums on the right side of my smile than my left." And not just a little bit. A lot. I have a freakishly large right calf. Once I pointed it out to a couple of people here, they were amazed...I actually measured it and I think it's almost a full inch bigger in circumference. I provide this visual of anatomic irregularity for those of you who do not know me personally. I am a freak of nature. But I do have the best hair I've ever had in my whole life, and that counts for something, dammit.

So my most embarrassing moment. There was a time when I looked ab fab. I was kickboxing 3 time per week. I was tan. I had hair down to my ass. I was a rockstar! It was during the "summer of beer," which I will always remember fondly. Let's reflect on that a minute. mmmmm. beer.

So the Kev-head and I were in our "hiatus" o.k.a. "Kevin needs to get his head out of his ass" summer. (I love you honey!!), and I was on a date. I had never dated this boy before. Hell, he was only the second boy I dated since giving birth to Owen. (the first being the aforementioned frady cat on hiatus) He took me to a jazz club in Chicago. I was dressed to kill, baby! Long black dress with slits up the sides, black heels, makeup (who knew I could wear makeup??) - I looked very presentable. We hit the club and he goes to the bar to get us drinks. Fantastic. I move towards where the music is playing, feeling very confident. One step down...two steps down...three steps down...and here folks, here is where we have our problem. For the record, if you ever go to the Green Dolphin, there are FOUR steps. 1-2-3-4 steps...not three, as I had previously assumed in the dark club. Making this assumption, I didn't anticipate the 4th step...I was anticipating the FLOOR. Which is precisely where I landed as my heel caught the edge of the 4th step...that I didn't see. Yes, face down...spread eagle, in a DRESS on the FLOOR of a Chicago jazz club. Some nice man who saw me fall helped me off the floor. Great. Thank you Mr. Nice Guy. I immediately ran to the bathroom, which sold cigarettes, God love them...and smoked two...or three...I can't remember...but my date was very confused when I finally did come out, hoping that all of the people who had seen me take my nose dive into the lovely hardwood of the club had dispersed and were not still standing there with pity in their eyes. The rest of the evening was fine and obviously Mr. Date wasn't, even though he didn't witness the fall, because here I am 6 years later, married to Mr. Kev-head. Who surely, even if he hadn't seen me fall, would have imitated it and replayed over...and over...and over for the past 6 years. So I guess I should be grateful for something.

What are YOU reading?

I'm about halfway through the book "Night" - written by holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel years ago, but has just recently been re-translated (he originally penned the book in Yiddish) by his wife and has been featured on Oprah.

I've started "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion- which is also a book on death and dealing with death. I think. I'm not that far in to determine what the book is actually about.

And I'm reading "The Wedding" by Nicholas Sparks - which isn't about death. Phew! I was beginning to think I had a theme going.

I haven't finished any of them, but I can already tell that at 127 pages and subject matter that is so compelling I could (and probably will) weep - Night will be the first book I finish. Probably tonight. The imagery is shocking, but the book is well-written. Not feeling up to watching Schindler's List ever in my life, I'm surprised that I'm making my way through this book at all. I guess we'll see if I'm able to sleep tonight before I decide if this was a good idea. I tend to keep these kinds of tragic images with me for quite some time. I can't read most of what's in the paper any more. I just can't. I get depressed almost to the point of physical illness. I'm not sure what's wrong with me that makes me so empathetic or whatever that I simply can't let go of stories like this, or news stories about tragedy, or the "Sunday's Child" section of the paper. Is it my Catholic guilt that I'm not doing enough? Is it because secretly I would love to be in the peace corps or the red cross teaching English and providing medical care to underpriveleged children all over the world?

My boss just finished "America's Report Card" by John McNally...his friend since college and published author of several books/short stories. Scott is mentioned in the acknowledgements. I would like to start reading this as well. It's a funny horrible story about me and Mr. McNally. He was at Scott's wedding last year. My husband used to work with a man named Dan McNally. They were friends and I used to talk to him occasionally. So at Scott's reception, never having met his friend/author, I walk up and introduce myself saying "Aren't you Dan McNally" - and he has this look of horror on his face...and corrects me that his name is actually John. Oy. Open mouth and insert foot. I tried to defend myself that the mixup was because of my husband's co-worker, but the damage was done. Brilliant Rebecca, simply brilliant. And then Scott tells me later that John does not forgive or forget such things. Great. So now I'm the girl who has forever insulted him.

This is not the dumbest or most embarrassing thing I've ever done.
But it's close.

It's a mouthgasm!!

No, not like that you sickos...

Every now and again the world of food comes up with items that I cannot stop myself from eating...well...let's be honest...overindulging. Okay, let's be REALLY honest...it's a glutton-fest like no other.

I've seen a gazillion commercials for the "moolatta" from DQ. I've never had one, partially on purpose. I just am never in a position where I'm driving past a DQ - so I've been able to keep myself from that little morsel that I hear is to die for. HOWEVER...I do work right next door to a Dunkin' Donuts/Baskin Robbins. They have the cappucino blast. Same concept, I think - cappucino with ice cream and whatever flavor o'the month they can think of. Well folks...I broke down yesterday morning. I tried one...the turtle flavored one. I needed a little pick me up after my late night with the goddess of pop and coffee was just not going to cut it. Remember how I need to remove the phrase "it'll be fine" from my vocabulary? Well...this is NOT fine. It's within WALKING distance for crap's sake. I just got one for lunch and I'm ready to go get one for an afternoon snack. I'm already planning on getting one on the way home. Sweet Jesus these things are good. Kathy just tried mine...she immediately said "go get me one." This is not going to be good for either one of us as we enable each other into gluttony. Oh the willpower I wish I had!

My other gluttonous addiction right now is cheese. Not just any cheese. Laughing Cow spreadable swiss cheese. Damn you Jennifer Adams for getting me started on this. I could slam an entire container of that swissy goodness down in one sitting with a box of club crackers...and some sliced green olives on top...with a beer...or two...or ten. Want to go to the Meijer right now and pick some up.

And for some reason my whole household is having a love affair with french onion dip. I don't usually keep chips and dip on hand because we don't usually snack that much. But I found this Dutch Farms Sour Cream FOD, throw in some wavy lays and look out. I can do some serious damage to that container...the boys, too. I can't keep this stuff in the house!

After seeing Madonna the other night, I'm realizing how soft in the middle I really am. I guess I should stop my snacking...
but then...
the dunkin donuts is calling my name...

I don't wanna hear, I don't wanna know...please don't say you're sorry

I've heard it all before...and I...can take care of myself...~Madonna's "Sorry" from 'Confessions on a Dance Floor'

HAVE YOU CONFESSED?

OMG! OMG! OMG!

Madonna.
Madonna.
Madonna.

Seriously? Seriously. 2 seats off the catwalk, 17 rows from the main stage, 2 rows off the secondary stage. She is unbelievable. Her show is a 2 hour cardio workout and she SINGS. I love her. I love her. I love her. An unbelievable performer. She now sits firmly in my top ten with Sir Paul, Prince, Melissa Etheridge and the Indigo Girls. Sir Paul is and always will be numero uno, but between Prince and Madonna, it's a toss up for the number 2 spot. Unbe-fucking-lievable. The sheer athleticism of what she was doing up there and to sing on top of it? Whole new respect. I thought the new CD was just okay until I saw it last night and now I'm listening nonstop. AND I got Madonna buttons for my jean jacket...how super-gay is that? Yeah, I love it.

AND Ozzie Guillen was there and we got his autograph for Owen. It's on a Depakote post-it note that we got from the people sitting next to us...but hey - beggars can't be choosers, right? And P.S. - Ozzie's son? WAAAAAAAAAY hotter in person than I remember him from the World Series coverage last year. Super hot.

As for the heat in the United Center due to the lack of air conditioning, it wasn't unbearable in there. I was jumping around like a maniac, so I think I would have been sweating regardless.

Old stuff - she did Like a Virgin...Live to Tell...Ray of Light (which was also one of my faves with her on guitar...ab fab) Substitute for Love, Erotica, La Isla Bonita, Music, Lucky Star.

I know SOME people (I'm lookin' at you, pea) - think she's just a worthless whore...but I'm telling you...even if you don't appreciate her music or that sex phase she went through...she is an amazing female artist, and after 23 years...Phenom. And her body? Pilates here I come...no one should be able to do what she did for 120 minutes without air conditioning. She didn't even look like she was breathing heavy.

Maybe I'll be able to focus on something else tomorrow...but today...no way.

Monday morning you sure looked fine...

Good morning ramblers! WOW! What a weekend...lots to talk about, so awaaaaaay we go.

First - Julie and Jimmer are back in town...so they better be out here...none of this blah-blah-blah we were gone so we have a lot to catch up on nonsense.

Friday night - Owen's game...NOT good. Lost to the slaughter rule. That's never happened to us before. Owen is not hitting. The mighty Casey's bat is very cold. Struck out twice on Friday and 3 times at Saturday's game. I hope the Kev-head gets him out in the yard tonight to practice or tomorrow's game will be disastrous.

After the game some ladies came over for some cocktails. Hilariously good fun. Kids in the pool/hot tub at midnight. Good times. Discussions were all over the table. The bad part? The bug fest that was my house after the ladies left. See, when you have 6 kids, all running in and out to talk to us, play tag, generally be kids...the bugs that are "walking towards the light" just keep coming and coming and coming. The counter where I was mixing martinis? OMG - completely covered. I spent a solid 20 minutes after the ladies left just wiping dead bugs off my counters, stove, inside my sink...ewwwwwwwww. The pool table downstairs? Vaccummed it once, and you can't even tell. Seriously. That bad.

And now the moment you've all been waiting for...dog breeding.

Yes, I'm studding out King Krypton of the Crumerosa. Yeah, that's right, that's his name. I never said we were normal. Took Kryp over to his new girlfriend's (Maxie) house on Saturday morning. I didn't quite know how he would act, or what we would see. He's been humping on Joe so much I was worried I might have turned him prison gay. Maxie is in heat and I guess for dogs, that's the equivalent of being in your mid-30's sexual peak. She was all over my boy, who was really more interested in peeing on everything he could. Twice. Three times. She was jumping near him. Over him. Around him. Trying to mount HIM. Huh? (Is that her saying, "No, do it like THIS!") Yeah, I'll never understand dogs. Which I guess is kind of okay. Kryp tried to do his thing a couple of times but she would have no part in it. Today they seemed more on track when I dropped him off. He's got today and Wednesday to make this happen. I'll keep you posted.

Saturday's game was not good either. We didn't have enough players and Owen couldn't hit. I think we lost 11-4. Yikes.

I have more from the weekend, but I don't want this post to be eons long...I'll stretch it out into the week.

For now I must leave you with this: I'm going to Madonna and you're not. Most of you could care less...to you I say...WHATEVER. I have loved this woman forever and it's going to be a GREAT show. Me and the Janet...off to the United Center, for FREE. Kev-head scored some majorly good tickets from a vendor. YEAH baby!

A subculture I cannot break into...

And I'm not so sure I want to.

Well....it was inevitable. Our first "bike night"...at HOOTERS. Nice. Easily 150 bikes there at any one time. If 6 would pull out, 6 more would pull in to replace them. The place was a madhouse. And not just in your typical "busy" type of madhouse...but maaaaaaadhouse. I've never seen so much leather in my life. (no comments about S&M conferences, please...)

I consider myself someone who can fit into any setting. As Julie likes to say...I have friends before other people have seats. But this...this place...no way. Not in this sausage fest. Which is basically what it was, with the occasional side of silicone.

In my jeans and my black T - I was the most overdressed woman in the place. Well, maybe there were a couple of older women like me who were dressed a little more conservatively...so maybe like 3 of us weren't showing as much skin as Maxim magazine. But these other hoochies...YOWZA. The Hooters girls looked overdressed...so you know it was bad.

First, I know I don't know all of the biker rules...but who rides in flip-flops? I am a lover of the flip-flop from waaaaaaaay back. Ain't no way.

Second, who rides in a micro mini? Maybe my friend bikerguy...hehe (I'd love a spoof photo of THAT)...I wouldn't even know how to SIT in one of those things, let alone SIT on a BIKE.

Third, when did the "heroin-chic" look come back in as far as eye makeup? I didn't get that memo.

Fourth, do I need a boob job to be a biker babe? Saline and silicone as far as the eye can see.

Fifth, to the guys who were there after their golf outing...and I know they are not reading this, so this is really for my own benefit. SHUT UP. Especially you, Mr. Loud-Talker-please-everyone-in-Hooters-look-at-me. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Even your friends have stopped talking to you. You're annoying. And I know from annoying. For those of you who know Kev-head's friend Danny - his voice was like that...and his laugh twice as loud if you can believe it. And everything he said he said for the benefit of everyone in the place. Shut up.

There were a lot of gorgeous bikes out there, though. I told Kevin I don't ever have to go there again. Been there, done that, over it. Maybe a good bike show with more of a mixed crowd where people actually, I don't know, wear clothes. And I can shop. ;)

Kevin's off on his fishing trip in Lake Erie.
Everyone have a great weekend!

Allelujah! Allelujah!!

Mr. Neighbor moved the chickens! Yeah baby!

He moved them into the pasture where the dogs can't see them. They can still get to them, mind you, but now, hopefully, they won't be a distraction. I don't think for a minute that this chapter of posts is concluded, but I have hope.

No good way to segue... (hey, that rhymed)
Men and women are so different. Ever notice that? I feel really good about the female friends I've accumulated in my life. The girls I have now are total keepers... we all talk about everything, for the most part, much to our husbands chagrin. And do you know what I've discovered? That we're all married to the same man. I realize that this must be difficult to believe, but really...we are. How in the world is this possible? And it just makes me think that really some of this stuff must be hardwired into them...not all of them had the same shared experiences as children. They all had different parents, different childhoods...but yet, here we all are, doing great battle with them day after day after day over the same things. I've never read "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" - but I have a feeling this is what that person was talking about.

For me I'm coming to realize that the bottom line with most men is that their coping mechanisms are broken. And for you men reading this, I'm sorry...but you're broken. Think about it. If you've ever had a fight with your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/significant other...it's because you couldn't cope with something, some small change, some missing item, some minor disagreement that gets blown out of proportion. Seriously.

You can't find your belt.
You can't find the scissors.
You wanted to do x and she wanted to do y.
You couldn't control the reaction of someone.
Your neighbors put a chicken coop right on your property line.

These are all situations that can be resolved very quickly and without anyone getting all whipped up. But men will whip it up in a second. If they spent as much time trying to solve whatever instead of bitching/pissing/moaning/getting all whipped up about whatever, they could have time to then just sit on the couch and have a beer. "Water off a duck's back" is a phrase I like to use. I consider myself fairly easy going. Take whatever is in front of you, process it, solve it, move on. I guess that's why I'm in IT.

And no, I'm not outing Kev-head right now. This post is not in response to anything he's done...lately. HA! He's actually been quite agreeable since getting the Harley and hiring a competent assistant in his office. (no, not THAT kind of assistant, I'm not THAT cool a spouse) This is more in response to a couple of my girlfriends (who shall remain nameless...don't out yourselves in the comments ladies) and some troubles they've had recently and over the years. They are all telling me about them and it's insane, because the names are different, but the result is the same. Lack of male coping = crabby husband=fighting husband/wife.

Just random thoughts to fill the day.
The weather is gorgeous.
Go out and get yourself some vitamin sunshine folks.

The rooster story...

Ah, yes, the rooster...cock-a-doodle-fucking-doo. Despite any misconceptions you all may have about roosters, they don't just crow in the morning. They crow the entire time they are awake. The roosters next door start at 4 am. And what some of you may not know is that my husband sleeps so light that the clouds passing over too loudly can cause him to sleep with earplugs in. So he's already been plotting ways to secretly kill these roosters. Besides...who has 3 roosters for 5 chickens? I know FARMS of chickens that don't even have a rooster...they borrow one from the farm down the street. That cock is so busy doodle-dooing I don't think he even has time to crow. How do I know shit like this happens?

Well - I used to work in North Judson. Farm country. One day I'm in the post office and I hear a rooster crowing. This happens several times while I'm standing there at the counter. Finally I ask "Is that a rooster?" The post office lady rolls her eyes, lets out a sigh and says yes. And it's been crowing all day. Ummmm, pardon me ma'am, but why is there a rooster in the post office? One of the farmers is MAILING it to another farmer so they can have chicks. Seriously? Seriously. Cocks in the mail...brilliant...and legal.

But I digress.

So yesterday my dogs are out, pretty as you please...and not bothering anyone. Until it's time to put them away. From their kennel they can see the chickens/roosters. Which are almost never in their pen these days. The roosters hop up and over the top and the chickens just walk through the damn fence. So almost all of the fowl are out and about...some of them on my property which is oh, say...3 feet away from where they live...so the dogs who WERE going into their kennel are now off and running and chasing down the chickens. Well the chickens are SCATTERING at this point...so the minute I get the dogs off of one, they are off and chasing down another. I can't keep up. I'm screaming and running and throwing my phone at them (it was the only thing I had on me). This, I'm sure paints a hilarious picture for you as you all know I cannot run. I should never be seen running. It's not pretty. I should most definitely not be seen running, screaming and throwing phones. But there I was...feathers flying, me screaming and chickens scattering. They tore a lot of feathers off of the one rooster who then hid behind some day lilies while I distracted the dogs.

Another mess of feathers out of another chicken, who escaped after I threw the phone at Jessie, and went back through the fence and into the deck box.

Last night I was very upset. I didn't know what to do.

I did what all 30something women do when they have a problem. I called my mother. Who, surprisingly enough, didn't have an answer for me.

And this morning, on top of the deckbox...there was the rooster, short a few feathers, but cock-a-doodle-dooing just the same. Kevin says I stopped the fight too early. Oy.

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right...

You ever have one of those weeks that make you want to crawl into bed with some spreadable swiss cheese, a box of crackers and green olives and watch the Lifetime Movie Network all weekend and cry? No? Just me? Is it the cheese that's throwing you off? Substitute your favorite comfort food, you'll get my drift.

Some of you know what I do for a living. I am a geek. Not in that, hey, she knows something about computers kind of way...in that she's the firewall administrator, unix administrator kind of way. Geeks like me say things like "direction enforcement for unidirectional connections, where packet flow is in the opposite direction to the connection direction."

HUH?

Yeah, really no one says that. But it was in one of my training manuals once, so I clipped it and keep it on my monitor. When and if I ever understand what the hell THAT geek is talking about, I know I have arrived.

Mostly I just sit around praying nothing breaks. I'm in the same biz as the Jimmer and Sher-bear. Insurance. I am this company's insurance policy. You don't NEED your insurance every single day, but you pay the premium because when shit hits the fan, you have to have the policy to bail you out. That's me. I'm the policy. Which mostly is good...I can sit here and blog with you guys and read other blogs and respond to them, and catch up on the news and zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...oh sorry...where was I?

Monday my firewall went down at 4:05 pm. Just not there. Just sitting at a prompt that says ok. Well, in the geek world ok is not okay. ok means I don't know what to do next. Ok means I can't boot. ok means help I've fallen and I can't get up. Because I'm a fairly decent geek, I had a spare firewall in the safe. Got the firewall up and running and back on track by 6:45pm. YAY for me.

Until Tuesday, when my phone rings at 6am and it's my boss. He's not calling to say, "Hey, great job yesterday, why don't you stay home." He's calling to tell me that our email isn't working. That the queue is stacking up and I should probably take a look at it before the gen pop gets to the office and starts REALLY filling the queue. Shit. The problem isn't that I can't fix it...the problem is that my shitty dsl keeps going up and down the entire time I'm trying to fix it. Very frustrating. I actually figured out what was going on fairly quickly...my arp wasn't arp-ing. Hurrah! We've had this problem before. So I call my handy dandy firewall tech support staff because they'll be able to tell me how to fix this lickety-splickety. Except they can't. Because our support contract expired May 1st and I didn't renew it. Ahem. WHAT??? Oh.my.God. What's that saying about "Idle hands are the devil's tools?" Seriously. How on earth did I let this happen? Oy.

So I try to remember how to fix this blasted problem, and eventually I do, by about noon on Tuesday. No mail was lost, just delayed. All is well.

And I have a paralyzed kitten waiting for me when I get home.

And a school board that's screwing us royally.

Wednesday was actually a good day.

Thursday my email firewall powers down in the middle of the day. For no apparent reason. I switch outlets on the UPS and boom, back and running.

Until 4 am. When it shuts off again. Clearly we're experiencing a power problem. And I'm the only geek here. So once again our email is down. Luckily I was able to take the email firewall out of the mail route and bring us back to life again, but the ironic part is that I only needed this box to last 2 more weeks. We've had it 4 years. I needed two more weeks, because then we're switching to something else. 2 MORE WEEKS. For the love.

And now my husband is home sick with some sort of stomach virus.

And my contacts are drying out.

And all I can think about is Family Pizza for dinner. And my cheese. and my crackers. and my olives. Which I have SO earned this week.

Enjoy a good chilly weekend with the comfort food of your choice, people...you've all earned it.

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine...

I hate to be an alarmist, but say your good-byes and party on...because the world as we know it is coming to an end. Armaggedon you ask? No. 6-6-06? No. Worse than both of those things. It's because I have to utter these words...

Jimmer was right.

Kill me now. Just seriously, put me out of my misery. Because the brawl with Billy the Kid did go down, yesterday, on the playground. It wasn't planned, it just sort of happened. And it wasn't really a brawl. There were some punches, and some pushes, and then it was over. Owen didn't get punched or push and did no punching or pushing from all accounts I've received. Roger did and his mom called Billy the Kid's mom and she was shocked that her son was instigating all of this by calling the boys mother fucker's from the playground as they were passing by...which caused them all to jump the fence and face him down. For the love. What kind of idiot starts shouting at a group of 4-6 kids when you're essentially by yourself on the playground?

Anyway, it's over, Billy the Kid shouldn't be in that neighborhood anymore. He doesn't live there, he was just spending the night at a friend's. I'm sure his mother will no longer let him spend the night at that kid's house now that she knows he was roaming the neighborhood challenging kids to fights, dropping f-bombs and generally being nefarious.

On a more hilarious note, Alex was on the phone with a girl last night for 40 minutes. 40 MINUTES...on the phone...a boy who can't even have more than a cryptic conversation with his own father for a few minutes! Talked to a GIRL...on the PHONE. I tried not to harrass him too much about this, but this is good stuff people. He's going to her volleyball party on Saturday.

Backstory: I "leaked" it to a girl in Alex's class that if you want to get under Alex's skin, you should call him Eeyore. This sent that girl giggling to another girl and so on and so on. Some of you might think this was cruel. It absolutely was not. What resulted was the girls giggling about Alex on a daily basis, and calling him Eeyore in the hallway, and hugging him and printing pictures of Eeyore off the internet for him, and eventually, making a special trip to the mall to buy him an Eeyore doll. Oh yes, the girls love Alex. My boss says it's wrong of me to try and get my son laid in the 7th grade. Well, that, of course, is not my intent. But I will poke and prod and do little things to help him out of his shell a little bit. My work here is done.

It will be interesting for him to go to this party on Saturday, my anti-social 7th, now 8th grader. I wonder if Mackenzie, the hugging-Eeyore-buying girl will be there. She luuuuuuuurves Alex and showers him with way more attention than Alex is comfortable with, that's for sure. Talk about wanting to light yourself on fire. After graduation last week, Alex and I are walking to the car and he says..."I got like 7 hugs tonight from girls, 3 of which were from Mackenzie." First of all, who counts the number of hugs they get in an evening? My son really is overly analytical. Secondly...he can tell you who gave him each hug, and when. Third, Alex, seriously! This girl LIKES you likes you...she's not doing this to be cute or funny...she went to the mall, specifically to buy you an Eeyore stuffed animal. It's been a long time since I've been a 7th grade girl (no comments, Jimmer!), but I'm pretty sure she wants to "go with you" whatever that means these days. Just roll with it.

Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold.

Otherwise known as: When you're a Jet you're a Jet all the way...

Yeah, that's right. I'm talking about gangs and territories and kids beating each other up.

So last night the phone rings and it's Owen's friend Roger. Love the Roger. He can be a little pouty and mouthy, but mostly he's a great kid and he and Owen get along really well. He's a little stouter than Owen (my Ethiopian famine victim) and is not afraid to throw down during their 'friendly' games of football. At Owen's party, Roger was accused of over-tackling little Noah during the game, which caused the kids to gang up on him during the water balloon fight, which caused Roger to cry and I had to take him inside to 'have a moment.' Oy.

So Roger and Owen have quite a curious conversation:
O: Did you talk to him? He came over?
O: Oh really? He said that?
O: You talked to him?
O: Okay, that sounds fine.
O: You need me to do what?
O: Oh, you want me to spend the night? Let me ask my mom.

Kevin and I hmm-n-haw about it and eventually say yes. I'm still cooking dinner at this time (yeah, it's 8:30...seriously)...and while I'm cooking Owen idles up beside me.

O: Mom, will it still be dark when I go to Roger's?
M: Yes, it's practically dark now.
O: Oh, because Roger wanted to go to the playground. (Roger lives near the school)
M: I don't think you'll be doing that. Roger (Roger's dad's name is Roger, too) is not going to let you do that.
O:Oh.

Thinks about this for a minute.

O: Mom...ummmm...you know how Billy and Roger are mortal enemies.
M: I think I remember something about that.
O: Well Billy really hates Roger. He sent this 4th grader to Roger's house to get him to come to the playground. I think Billy wants to beat Roger up.
M: Oh really.
O: Yeah, Roger says he needs me for back up.

Ummm, what? Whodawa? What was that? You want to go to your friend's house, to spend the night, because he needs you for back up in some brawl in the playground?? Yeah, NO. So I'm trying not to freak out about this. I assure Owen that there's no way Big Roger is letting them go to the playground at night. And that it's not up to Owen to be Roger's backup, and if that's the only reason Roger wants him to come over, then he's not going. I'm kind of ranting, but not yelling...telling Owen that Roger has a choice here, he doesn't have to go. And Owen is trying to remember why it is that he told me any of this, as it's clearly upset me.

M: Hand me the phone.
O: (panicked) Why?
M: I'm calling Roger's dad.

Oh shit...the look on Owen's face was priceless. You could see it, he was mortified. I didn't care. We're friends with this family. They own the pizza place. They brought me pizza and cinnamon rolls at all hours of the day and night. I owe it to Roger to let him know what his son is scheming if, in fact, there is a scheme.

Bottom line, I call Roger and ask if there's any way these kids are going to the playground tonight. He assures me that no, there's no way in hell. I ask him if he knows the plan. He verifies that he does indeed know about the Billy threat. Says Roger told that 4th grader to pound sand. Well, maybe not that, exactly. But told him that he's not going to the playground. YAY Roger! Big Roger was sitting there when Roger told Owen the story, and it was he who piped in when Roger asked Owen to spend the night "Tell him you need him for backup, man." That part was meant to be a joke...that Owen didn't get. Roger and I laughed and I explained everything to Owen. I think he was relieved, deep down, my sweet-hearted child. I told him that Roger made a very good choice in not going, and that Owen made a very good choice in telling me what was up, even though it really wasn't up at all, and that fighting never solves anything anyway. He agreed, but told me "If anyone messes with my friends, I'm so backing them up."

Yes, you will, I'm sure...

So crisis averted...no gang wars were waged last night. I'm sure he and Owen played Dance Dance Revolution instead. Now that's more like it.

Coming soon to a theatre near you...the goose story...

I know what you're all saying. No! It's not possible to now have a story about geese...and the truth is, I don't. YET. But to tell you the story I MIGHT have in the future, I have to tell you this:

So I was in great debate with my husband over whether or not to come clean about the great chicken massacre of 2006. His theory was 'screw 'em, they deserve what they got for being stupid.' Actually told me that if I went and talked to them about it, that I would be the jackass. Hmmm. I didn't like that answer. I was racked with guilt over the chicken, even though I agree, they are the stupid people here. In the interest of neighborly duty, I waited until Kevin was off on his HD with the boys before I went over to make my Saturday confession about the whereabouts of the missing chicken.

The neighbors basically didn't care. They were fine with it. Mrs. Neighbor said "It wasn't an egg-layer, I don't care." They also tell me that they figured it was one of our dogs and not coyotes, because apparently Jessie traded in her rawhide chew stick for a meaty chicken drumstick that day and left the rawhide next to the coop. Fantastic. All-righty then, glad I 'fessed up! They invite us over to watch the fireworks they'll be setting off that evening. I say we might be there.

Later that evening, after dark, after the boys are back in town and I fill their bellies with finely grilled foods, the fireworks start.

And you also have to know this: my son Owen is an exhibitionist who ran around the house with his friend Luke screaming "There's a full moon!" and dropping his pants causing his friend fits of laughter. And then he would do it back...on and on they went, laughing at each other's rearends. Seriously. So at first they were just out on our porch watching the 'show' screaming goofy things to the neighbors...they are insane. This doesn't really have anything to do with ducks, chickens or geese, I just find it hilarious and wanted to share.

When we go over there, and Mr. Neighbor proceeds to tell me that the ducks are gone. They think the coyotes got them. I believe I predicted this in the duck story. While expressing my grief over the loss of their ducks, in my head the allelujah chorus goes off, because now I can let my dogs run through the woods without worrying about them heading over to their pond.

The next morning I let the dogs out and they're doing what they do when I see the neighbors unloading crates from their minivan. Nicholas (their 5 year old) runs over screaming "Geese! We have geese!" Sweet Jesus. These people just will not give up with the fowl. For the love. I keep my dogs on the west side of my property while they lead said geese waddling back to the pond. After awhile I put the dogs away and see the 3 geese: 2 white, 1 gray, settling into the "chicken coop." All that says to me is "dog buffet." They might as well put up a sign.

In the meantime these people don't have a pot to piss in. They are only mowing 1/4 of their lawn because they only have a push mower and Mr. Neighbor is on medical leave from work because of his health (he's overweight, has high cholesterol and blood pressure and is a cop).

So I don't know yet what 'the goose story' will be, but I'm sure there will be one. What's next? Emus? Peacocks? Ostrich? How many different types of birds can they own and have killed before they finally realize they need a barn if they're going to have animals. Kevin and I think they'll default on the property before the end of the year. We'll see.

The chicken story...

It's a two post kind of day...
Some of you may remember the duck story...well, my neighbors are working overtime on the "Who wants to be White Trash" show, so it just keeps getting better.

One day I look out my living room window and see a deck box in my neighbors yard. Right on the property line, out in the grass...far away from any patio, and hence far away from any patio furniture. This confuses me.

What confuses me even more is that later in that day I see my neighbor carrying some wire fencing from the back 40. Hmmmm...

Then the fencing goes up in a circle from the ends of the deck box. What in the WORLD is he doing?

And then the chickens go in the fencing. Yeah, 3 roosters and 5 chickens, I think. And the deck box is the chicken coop. Right on my property line. Roosters. That crow. At 4 am. And are right in the sightline of my dog kennel. Where I have 3 retrievers. Seriously? You're kidding me, right? You have 10 fucking acres and you put your roosters and chickens right in front of me, right in front of my dogs. In a deck box. A DECK BOX.

This was a little over a week ago. And since then I've been trying to be careful about letting my dogs out, because I'm afraid if they go anywhere near that fence, it's game over.

One day last week, one of the rooster jumped on top of the deck box and promptly out of the "coop" while my dogs were out. I told Alex to keep the dogs occupied near the pond,and ran to get the neighbor to fetch his escaped rooster. Then on Saturday, Joe discovered the coop while Krypton and Jessie were playing in the pond. He circled the coop, scaring the chickens half to death causing them to all fly OUT of the coop. Chickens really are stupid. Don't go in the deckbox, fly out of the very fencing that is protecting you from this large toothy creature circling your pen. Joe was so amazed and startled at the sight of this he did nothing. I put the dogs away and the neighbor kids got all the chickens back in the coop. All is well.

All of these stories have one thing in common. My presence. My dogs listen to me more than anyone in the house.

Yesterday I tell Alex and Owen to let the dogs out for a bit. I had chewy bones for them, and usually if you give them something like that, they each lay in a different section of the yard chewing and wagging and generally staying out of trouble. At least that' s what happens when I'M there. But yesterday I wasn't there. I was enjoying a cocktail with my husband after work. I tell Kevin "I told the boys to let the dogs out"... he responds with "Well, there's a dead chicken waiting to happen" No, nooooo, I say, it'll be fine...they're giving them chewy bone thingies...it'll be fine. Do we remember what happened the last time I said something would be fine? It resulted in Alex standing in front of a room full of people chewing his gum like a cow. I should clearly remove this phrase from my repertoire. I know nothing about things being fine.

Not 15 minutes later Alex calls and says "Well, the dogs discovered the chickens today."
Me: "Is everything okay"
A: "Jessie killed one of them"
Me (freaking out): "Are you kidding me? A rooster or a chicken"
A: "One of the little brown chickens. She carried it over here and by the time I got her to drop it it was dead and she had ripped one of the legs off."
Me: "Oh my God. Where is the chicken now"
A:"I threw it into the woods. Burying chickens really isn't my thing."

OH.MY.GOD.

So we don't know if the neighbors were home or not, or if they have noticed they are one chicken shy of a full deckbox, but I have to go talk to them about this. I heard it through the grapevine that they only paid $5 per chicken. So do I just go offer them money? I have to acknowledge the chicken massacre, don't I? Sweet Jesus...again...this is my life. Couldn't make this shit up.

My husband, the genius...

So just a few short posts ago, I was talking about how men don't remember things, and can't multitask. Well here's a real winner so you guys know what I'm up against here.

Father's Day is coming, it's June 18th. I call my husband and say -"Julie's family is going to the Railcats game for Father's Day...your Dad's been wanting to go to a Railcats game, do you think we should try to get your family to go, too?" Kevin thinks this is a great idea. I call Kevin's mom...she thinks this is a great idea. She tells the sisters, everyone is on board. One week later, I'm buying tickets. Kevin is aware that I'm buying tickets because I've told him that we're one section over from the Anton clan...the game is at 2 pm, we're all set.

Fast forward to yesterday. When I'm making serious plans with Julie about going to the Southwest Michigan Wine Fest thingy that I posted about the other day. We're reserving hotel rooms, finding out about cabins on the beach. All of a sudden, I have a vague recollection that my husband is going on a fishing trip at the end of June. I call him and ask him when it is. Hmmmm, I don't know, lemme check, he says. "Oh, yeah...June 16th, 17th and 18th." what? WHAT? Father's Day weekend. You are going to Lake fucking Erie to FISH for Father's Day weekend...when I've planned an outing with YOUR family. You're not going to be with YOUR Father, your children aren't going to be with THEIR father, because THEIR father is fishing on Lake Erie. Sweet Jesus. He KNEW I was planning this! With HIS family!!! And he's just laughing away on the phone. Granted, his fishing trip was planned first, but no "Hey, maybe don't plan that because I won't be here." No "Hey, I think the Railcats game is a good idea, but remember, I'll be fishing that weekend." No, let me BUY the tickets for your sisters, your mom and dad, your nieces and nephews and then say, oh yeah, I TOLD you I was going fishing. For the love of all that is good and holy. Someone keep me from killing this man. It's also the weekend of Owen's last Little League game. Which he'll be missing. To fish. In Lake Erie.

Seriously? Seriously. This is my life.

Oh no, not again...

Seriously? Seriously...I can't do this again. I cannot be the new kid again that no one talks to. It's ridiculous. Why are women so horrible?? HORRIBLE.

So a long time ago, like 6 years ago, we were "the new people" in Roselawn. Alex was new to school, we were new parents to the school, whatever. Did anyone welcome us? No. Did anyone ask us if we wanted to get involved? No. Clearly they have enough people involved, right? HA! Do you have kids in school? There's no such thing as enough parent involvement. I wasn't working when we first moved down there, so I volunteered. Market Day. Nice, easy...I like food. It was a clear choice for me. Now I'll admit, I'm a fairly young mother of a 13-year-old. I had Alex when I was 21...so when we moved there he was only 7 and starting the 2nd grade. I was 28. Not a pup, but clearly younger than some of the other moms working the Market Day. Who didn't talk to me. Not even a little bit. Who did talk to me? Renee. She was someone's sister and only 13. She thought I was someone's older cooler high-school age sister (good for the old ego, bad when you want to buy a six-pack and left your ID in the car), which is why she talked to me. When I told her I was someone's mom she totally freaked. And that's how I found my first babysitter in our new area.

Anyway, I've been struggling to fit in for 6 years. 6 YEARS, people! And finally, I do. I invite local people to my house, and they actually come. I show up to volunteer for things, and people actually talk to me. I have the president of the school board's home phone and the principal and I talk trash about kicking each other's asses on the volleyball court. This past Christmas, Owen had a function, and it took me a good 15 minutes to walk from one side of the gym to the other where my parents were sitting for saying hello to all of the parents I've gotten to know through Scouts, PTA...you know the drill. My dad asked Kevin if I was running for office. Good ole Harry. We're comfortable...things are good.

And then we sent Alex to private school.
And we're the new people all over again.
And I'm the young mom, comparitively. And no.one.talks.to.me.

The 7th graders host the 8th grade graduation each year and the parents have to supply the food, set up and tear down the fellowship hall. Good times. I'm a go-getter...I'm involved...I can make punch, even without alcohol. I am so in.

I get there last night and I'm standing there in the vestibule and 3 other moms are standing not 15 feet away from me. They all know who I am. None of them are making any effort to talk to me. I politely say hello and move on. We are all supposed to be servers, so we sit in the back of the church knowing we'll have to duck out before it's over to start putting the food out. 6 moms are all sitting on one side of the aisle, one of whom I KNOW was in the "new church members" class with us, and she's scoots right in with them and starts chatting away. I'm sitting on the other side by myself. When we go downstairs, I just start putting stuff out on the table...no one talks to me, even when I try to start casual conversation "Can you believe the year is over?" "Can you believe next year this will be us?" One word answers. Do I have something hanging out of my nose? Am I showing too much cleavage? No and no. I have the best hair I've ever had in my whole life! I'm totally presentable. I specifically asked Kathy if I was appropriately dressed in my black skirt and top...she confirmed I look okay for 8th grade graduation. She's more conservative than I and said I looked fine. Who is this crazy lady making small talk? This isn't me...what in the world am I doing???

Is it really just that I'm new? The only people I talked to all night was the principal and Alex's teacher. The principal was very cordial as we had just spent an evening together at the fantastic Kiwanis banquet where we all wanted to shoot ourselves. He's a really nice guy. I'm trying to get him an in with the NN school corp as superintendent. I wish they would keep him as principal at Trinity, but alas, they're all wrapped up in him not being a parochial school principal.

And then when I'm doing dishes, someone finally says something to me. A hint of casual conversation. "Will Alex be with us next year?" Crazy staring mom says to me. CSM and I have had encounters in the past. She's one of those look you up and down kind of people that make you uncomfortable, you know the type. Wears big jewelry and outfits that actually match top and bottom AND the jewelry, wears too much make up and WAY too much hairspray. She almost never smiles. She grins. With her lips pursed together. I felt like I was on trial. I acknowledge that yes, Alex will be back next year. Now she's standing next to me at the table, visibly and obviously giving me the once over. "Such a pretty girl" she says. I'm not making this up. She can't be more than 40, if that...how old does she think I am?? And then corrects herself and says "Lady...such a pretty lady" clearly aware of how condescending she sounded. UGH. I want to melt into the floor. Girl. GIRL? Lady? Does she hear herself? How about, "that's a pretty outfit" or "that's the best hair I've ever seen in my whole life!" Instead she mutters about me being a pretty girl like some Bette Davis character in a serial killer movie. Maybe I'm exaggerating.

So the school year is over, and I have the summer to not be the new kid on the block (Oh-oh-oh-ohhhhhhh...the right stuff!). We'll see what happens next year.