It's National Blonde Day!

It is now half past seven o'clock and I haven't received ONE gift. What's up with that? I checked the mail, no cards. Once or twice I caught sight of a UPS truck, but it zipped right past my door.

Are you all trying to send me a subtle signal that my roots need to be done? Or perhaps you are under the impression that it is "NATURAL Blonde Day", not "NATIONAL Blonde Day." In any case, I can only hope that every citizen did their duty today and gave at least one or two Blondes the recognition they so richly deserve.

Here's an idea: Pay one a compliment along the lines of, "Attractive AND intelligent to boot! Wow!" Or, "You know I was so busy listening to you that I failed to notice what a gorgeous mane of hair you are sporting."

Celebrate Blondes! (C'mon, you know you like us.)

TV in a Box



Zane had his lady love, Miss Morgan, over for some pool time this weekend. She is his cousin and quite the sweet girl. Being the older of the two, Morgan mothers Zane and he loves it. Age barriers are crossed; however, by their shared and deep appreciation of SpongeBob SquarePants (don't we all love the holey little critter after all). So after their fun in the sun, they settled down in the box our kitchen TV came in to watch. It was great fun for me to observe as they searched out "Morgan sized" and "Zane sized" chairs, negotiated seating arrangements, and finally happily munched on popcorn for all of the five minutes it took ole SpongeBob to go to commercial.

All of the above their idea, of course. Who knew that the ultimate TV viewing experience is incomplete without a box to sit in? Kids, that's who.

Even Dogs Have Bad Hair Days



But they're still adorable, yes?

Let Them Eat Cake

Is it really Thursday already? I've been so busy reading other blogs that I have been neglecting my own. It could also be that I've been living my life and haven't had anything to share.

Since it would be unimaginably rude and therefore unthinkable for me to deprive you of my writing for even a moment longer, I must leave you with something. But what? It's been a so-so week, and one sadly lacking in blog fodder. I've got it! For now, I will let you employ the rich imagination I know that you so proudly possess. Thus, the following.


(Catchy Title That Makes You Stop in Your Surfing Tracks)here


(Paragraph that pulls the reader into my clutches)here

(Paragraph abounding in sarcasm and humor)here

(Paragraph designed to induce sympathy/passion/tears and wrap the whole thing up in a tidy word ribbon)here



Whew! That's much better. Hope you feel better too. Now go write something interesting on your blog for me to read. Ahem....I'm waiting!

Sunday, Boring and Expensive, Sunday

It was cloudy and rainy today with ominous rumbles in the distance. We just missed a very large hail producing storm, so other than an exciting and suspenseful hour in the basement counting cobwebs, we were left twiddling our mental thumbs.

Since yet again our local meteorologists failed to predict gloomy weather (the morning's paper said 82 and sunny), we were unprepared for the inevitable boredom of a rainy Sunday. Our plans for the anticipated not-a-cloud-in-the-sky summer day included yard work in the morning (perhaps church? or not), rollicking and socializing at the pool in the afternoon, and a lively game of basketball in the front driveway at dusk while enjoying the smell of smoke from the grill. Heck, maybe we would eat outside.

Foiled again. So you ask, what did Z, S and z do with all of their free time today? I'll just do a comparison cost analysis for you, and I think that will give you a clear picture.


HOPED FOR SUNNY SUNDAY

Yard work: Free.

Church: $5.00, if Z remembers to bring cash for the offering, and S is able to elbow him hard enough to arouse him from his nap.

Pool: Free. Although the anticipated cost of actually getting together with the eager neighbors for dinner remains unestimated.

Basketball: Free.

Dinner: Prepaid, as Z stocked half a cow in the freezer this spring.

TOTAL: $5.00


ACTUAL SUNDAY

Blockbuster: $25.74. Includes late fee of $8.58 and a coupon for $4.29. Rentals were Honey, I Blew Up the Kid, Homeward Bound II: Lost in San Francisco, Jimmy Neutron: Confusion Fusion, City by the Sea, and Secretary.

OfficeMax: $17.00. We bought one Home Organization Calendar. No time like the present, and all that. We were of course, over charged and got one for the price of two! Consequent trip to be refunded will result in additional money spent on unnecessary items that catch our collective eye.

Circuit City, First Trip: $40.79. DVD Head Cleaner bought because DVD's rented from Blockbuster won't play; suspected five year old dusty DVD player to blame. And why not, air can cleaner for computer keyboards while we were thinking of it. Of course, it was against all known laws of the universe to visit a store of any kind without buying z something. Thus, the ScoobyDoo addition to his Learning LeapPad was acquired. Hey, it's educational.

Circuit City, Second Trip: $301.05. Z found a great deal on an RCA 27" television for the kitchen. And then, what is a TV without a combination MP3, CD and DVD player? You know, since we just rented all those DVD's, and hey, NOW they work!

Box that TV came in: Free. z played for two hours in it after we cut out a door and window. Honey I Shrunk the Kid, Homeward Bound and Jimmy Neutron have received mere glances.

Beans for Dinner: Free.

TOTAL: $384.58

Lord, please send us some good weather before we have bought ourselves out of house and home. On the bright (and yes, sunny) side, we will have entertainment galore, and a cardboard box house. Anyone seen an outlet? Anyone?

The People in the Car Go Round and Round

Z and I had an Important Meeting today with some self titled Important People. Many Important Papers were going to be signed. (No, don't get excited, we aren't getting divorced.) It was to take place in a Big Boring Room with No Pictures on the Wall and NO TOYS. The kind of meeting that little guys like z find rather tedious, especially after all the chairs have been climbed upon and all the complimentary mints have been opened, licked, and put back into the basket.

Of course, the sitter canceled at the last minute.

We called the Important People's Secretary to find out if a four year old would hinder anyone and she laughingly replied, "Oh, no problem!" So, off we went, armed with crayons, coloring books and snacks. But being the Simpsons that we genetically are, we got lost.

A note. I am always on time. In fact, I take great pride in this because prior to being with child, I was always horribly, inexcusably and flauntingly late. (Ask Celia.) Now I am precisely, tidily and politely on time with a tip o' my cap. Everyone marvels at my amazing organizational abilities; not to mention my extreme thoughtfulness. You won't hear the object of my appointment's foot tapping; nor will you observe any clockwatching or inconvenienced sighs.

Z is very good at being on time as well (thanks to me). But quite simply he got lost today because he failed to ask for directions. Yes, I am aware that men not asking for directions is a time weary cliche. But Z managed to once again top all males by FAILING TO ASK FOR DIRECTIONS FOR THE DIRECTIONS.

If I may explain, Z had been to The Very Important Meeting Office a year and a half ago. Therefore, when the secretary left a voicemail with specific directions he thought to his male self: HooHah! I've been there once before in my life, I don't need to listen to HER. What does she know? I can find it, if I have to, by sheer force of testosterone.

Do I really have to tell you how it went? Oh well, I have Z's permission.

WE ARE IN THE GENERAL AREA, WHICH IS POPULATED BY MANY OFFICE TOWERS.

S: (Doesn't know yet that Z is lost) It is 4:23, we should be there on time.
Z: Hmmm, yes I think it is in that building over there. Maybe not, mutter, mutter, perhaps it is that one.
S: You don't know which building?
Z: Of course I do, just let me turn around here.

FIVE MINUTES LATER

S: Okay, you don't know where it is.
Z: I remember that it was over there somewhere, now I don't see it.
S: Well, didn't the secretary call and tell you how to get there? Didn't you write it down?
Z: No, I could completely picture in my mind where it was. I didn't need to.

ANOTHER FIVE MINUTES IN RUSH HOUR, NOW.

S: Call the office! ASK THEM WHERE IT IS, and tell them we will be late!
Z: I don't know the number!
S: Call information!
Z: No, their partner office is right over there. (I'll waste more time and park, go in, and ask them if they know where I am supposed to be.)

TEN MINUTES LATER, YOU KNOW THE DRILL.

Z: That woman was so clueless! She didn't even know where it was!
S: (To self) SHE didn't have an appointment there, if SHE did, SHE would know where it was.

FINALLY FOUND THE RIGHT BUILDING, TWENTY RUDE MINUTES LATE.

In the elevator:

Z: Whew, that was something.
S: I am so embarrassed to have wasted these people's time.
Z: Chill, will you?
S: Oh lord what you are looking at is chilled. You don't want to see what my true temperature is. You are going to tell them that it is your fault we are late.
z: Will there be toys?

Receptionist: Your name?

Z: We are Z and S. We are so sorry we are late.
R: (Giggles) NO PROBLEM!
Z: Smirks.


To top it all off z so charms the VIP lady in the group that when he informs her that Mommy and Daddy have promised to do something fun after the Boring Meeting, she responds with an evil idea of her own:

VIPlady: Well, do you like pizza?
z: YES, I DO!!
VIPL: I happen to know that there is a CHUCK E CHEESE right up the street!
z: YAY!!!!!


So guess where we were tonight, but trust me, I got her name before we left and she will pay. All's well that ends well, though. z was quite the good kid and Z promised me that from now on, he will find out where he is going before he drags me along. Of course, I will have to remind him.

More Payback

Well, turns out z was suffering from "just" a virus. A virus that made him sad, cranky and hurted. Poor baby.

But I am happy to report that z is all better, folks, as evidenced by his return to normal four year old behavior.

Play with me, I'm climbing on the couch, I'm sneaking candy, play with me, I need constant stimulation, I refuse to take my allergy medicine/vitamin; brush my teeth, put on different clothes, brush my hair, eat my oatmeal, or put on my shoes. Play with me!

Good God, couldn't I get at least one day's grace between illness and wellness?

Note to self: BUY MORE CONDOMS.

Payback

Well, damn. z is sick with the Big, Scary, No Known Cause, Wait and See, Might Be Better in Three Days if Not Call Your Doctor, It is Probably a Virus but We Don't Really Know...FEVER.

Gosh darnit. I naively thought we were done with this, at least for the blissful shrunken down two and a half months we are allotted for summer. Yes, I discounted z's increased exposure to germs from the pool and McDonald's enticing playland, fairytale believer that I am, and thought that warmer weather would weave a magic health spell.

It may seem strange that this is all still somewhat new to me, and not least of all to z, poor little guy, being that he is four years old and we should be battle scarred with all the colds and fevers and scrapes and bumps and scary things in the night that babies, toddlers, and then preschoolers endure. But I am a stay at home mom, and therefore my child didn't go to daycare, thus depriving his immune system from encountering the enemy and then fighting the good fight. I will never forget the pediatrician, upon hearing that I am at home with z, nodding wisely, and saying, "Ahhh, that is why I see so few office visits and panicked middle of the night phone calls on z's chart."

Hey, I admit, I was warned. Many well meaning friends and family members cautioned that I would be "in for it" when z reached preschool age. They just failed to tell me that my knees would become arthritic from praying on them every other day.

I wonder if it is easier, or harder, for moms who have created more than one child. Do you just go from illness to illness and take it all in stride? You worry, but really, how much agony can one mom endure? The sleepless nights, the nagging thoughts at the back of your mind that pop up like annoying finger puppets: What if it is meningitis? What if it is pneumonia? What if you are really just a terrible mother and something you did caused this and your poor children are suffering all because of your incompetence and non knowledge of what is going around???

Because that is what goes through my mind. And what I contritely admit is that nothing makes me appreciate my child, my husband and my life, more than times of crisis.

I go along, most days, rather bored with the mundane details of life. Lists of things to do, appointments to be kept, and laundry to be done. The dishes. The pets. The bills. Every day is like every other. There are times I wonder, what if I had chosen a different path for myself? Would I be more fulfilled, would I be a more interesting and happier me?

But then come the times, some of them just moments, of extreme contentment and those that are truly bursting with the knowing that I am right where I am supposed to be and doing exactly what I am supposed to do. I am learning that these can come in the worst of circumstances. For example:

z is ensconced on the couch, feeling rather punky and surrounded by furry stuffed friends and Sprite.

Z is going to the store to buy him a Sick Toy. (We try to limit the buying of toys to birthdays, Christmas and Sick Days. Well, we try, anyway.)

z's face crumples up and he says, "Daddy, I am going to miss you, miss you so much in my heart. I mean it, in my heart!"

Cries big tears.

This from a child who would leave you in front of an onrushing semi to get to a Christmas present. Could care less who you are.

So I believe I'll stay right where I am. Sweet-Happy-Crazy-Life.

Of Fleas and Ticks

Miscommunication and its erstwhile companion Confusion reigned in our household this week, and they brought their inevitable offspring, Wild Accusations and Self Righteous Tears. They moved into our home in that cutesy little way they have of sneaking in on the backs of the most innocuous daily events.

Beau the Yorkie recently went for what was expected to be a routine grooming. I had received the friendly, early summer postcard a week ago reminding me that he was due for a fecal exam to test for worms. Ah, the things pets endure! When I called to make the appointment I asked if he could be subjected to this procedure on the same day of grooming.

For the RECORD, which all of you marrieds know is so very important, here is my transcription of the conversation. And if any of you, like Z, doubt my ability to recall events exactly as they occurred, I will also start tape recording all of my communications with you.

Me: I would like to book an appointment for Beau to be groomed, and also you notified me that he is due for a fecal. (Oh how that word just rolls around the tongue!) Do I need to bring a sample?

Receptionist: Oh, we don't do that anymore, we just give them this new pill. It prevents worms for six months. And the fecal exam is not all that reliable.

Me: How awesome! 'Cause I really hate that Frontline stuff. It is dangerous for kids and I am not too sure how good it is for animals, either.

Receptionist: Great, we'll see you then!

THE DAY OF THE APPOINTMENT

Z takes Beau to the vet. I ask how it went, and if he remembered to remind them of the worm pill.

Z: It was seven in the morning and she was talking so fast, that I got confused. I do know that they are going to give him a shot. They said something about a pill, and I said no, that would be way too much for his system to do all at once.

S: (Blood pressure rises visibly) A shot? No pill? His system?

Z: Worms.

S: YOU CALL THEM BACK RIGHT NOW AND TELL THEM THAT HE NEEDS THE PILL AND WHY THE F THEY DID NOT TELL US WHAT HE NEEDED WHEN I CALLED THEM AND RANDOM BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH! ALSO SCREAMING AND YELLING.

Z: Well, damn. Okay.

LATER IN THE DAY

Sara calls the vet. (Oh Lord, you all, please proceed with caution.)

S: Hello this is Beau's Mom. (Yes, I am.) Is he ready yet?

Snotty lady who hates me, obviously: Well, I don't know if you are aware of it, but that POOR little dog has PYRODERMA.

S: What?

SnottyLadyHatesMe: It is a bacterial skin infection. He will need to take antibiotics every twelve hours, in the form of a big purple and pink pill that dogs hate the look of, let alone the prospect of the shoving down the throat of. Good luck.

S: (Needs to be resuscitated due to lack of heartbeat.) Is that something that is contagious to humans, because you know I love my dog, but I have a four year old who is rather allergic and what in the world, I just need your help, should I be worried, I mean really I care about my dog but I also care about my child and it may seem to you that I am not being the best parent or dog parent but holy crap I do what I can and what do you advise, for GOD'S SAKE ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?

SLHM: (Unbelievably says to me): You know, there are many things your child can catch from Beau.

SILENCE

S: (Now in a fog of scary situations) Goodbye.


I then looked at the receipt that detailed the day's fun and ministrations to Beau. Leaping to my attention was the application of FRONTLINE. I freaked, and caused Z to freak. (Yes, I do love that.)

Z promptly ala hero called the vet and set things totally straight. We had gotten the print out of Jessica and Jim Colten, proud owners of a Lhaso Apso, who are obviously unafraid of chemically poisoning themselves and all around them, as they are willing to let their dog be infused with Frontline so that they will not have to deal with fleas and ticks.

SO, if you chanced to hear the BIG SIGH OF RELIEF HEARD AROUND THE WORLD yesterday, please feel free to thank us.

Like, HI!!!

Yesterday was z's first day at day camp. I remember his envy (and mine) last summer as his older neighbor and one true love, the gorgeous Rebecca, skipped off to day camp each day with her insulated lunch pack in tow. z would look out the window, eyes brimming and not responding to my promises of "Next year, you too, will go to camp."

I now realize how foolishly I have anticipated these dubious days. After a year of preschool angst with teachers possessing varying degrees of education and common sense who tested, analyzed and otherwise dissected our child and our abilities as parents, we have signed up for more!

Truly, I have big hopes for z's enjoyment of this time in his life. I dream of directors and counselors who allow children to explore, play and learn through being a kid. After all, summer is the time for fun, right? Not the time to assess gross/fine/disgusting motor skills, ability to keep one's hands to one's self, and kindergarten readiness, right? We'll see. I have to admit, though, the first day was certainly lots of fun and learning for one and all.

The week prior to camp I received a detailed map showing me, with yellow highlights and many arrows, how to DROP OFF and PICK UP (makes me think of my old fave movie, "Mr. Mom"...SOUTH to pick up; NORTH to drop off! or some such thing). In any case, the map and accompanying twelve pages of admonishments and preventive measures were an obvious and entertaining effort to head off those inevitable renegade parents who scoff at rules. This missive made crystal clear the staff's expectations of parents who might dare to think they qualify as equipped guardians of little people.


I am in BIG TROUBLE, MISSY, if I do any (but not limited to) the following:

a) Get out of my car.
b) Fail to show my driver's license to the staff member. (Hey, don't get me wrong, I am all for safety.)
c) Ask staff members questions during drop off/pick up. Guess I'll have to find the little girl's room all by myself.
d) Assist a staff member in opening a car door, or help him or her in the complicated-you-have-to-be-a-rocket-scientist-with-the-patience-of-a-saint task of unbuckling/buckling my child out of/into his booster seat.
e) God forbid, take more than two minutes during the process.


HERE IS HOW IT ACTUALLY WAS:

Camp was supposed to start at 10:00. We got ourselves into a line that stretched onto the main highway at 9:50 am, causing untold office workers to contemplate suicide and/or office wide massacres. (Damn those SUV's!)

10:00 am: Z goes the wrong way, driving UP the DOWN. Z accuses Sara of "hogging" the directions. Sara grits teeth. z laughs, and informs everyone that he needs to poop.

10:05 am: Z is vindicated, as going the wrong way finally leads you to the right way. We pull into line with 500 SUV's and no help in sight.

10:10 am: We see moms and dads running amok, actually GETTING OUT OF THEIR CARS AND WALKING KIDS TO THE STAFF. While their SUV's block everyone else in line. Z and I look at each other and silently curse. We are way too timid to follow suit, of course. This is our first year, you know, and WE can follow directions.

10:20 am: We are finally up to what seems to be the right place, as there are kids running around and middle aged men, women and teens trying to keep them in place. We sit at the front of the line and wait to be noticed. After ten minutes, Z rolls down the window and says to a kid who is presumably in charge, since he is a little taller than the rest of the kids: Hey!

Kid with Blond Spikes who I think might be Sixteen: Dude!

Z: We are here for camp, anyone here for that?

KBSS: Whooahhh, you bet, I'll, like have to get one of your directors. Cool?

Z: (Being Z) Cool!

Next up:

Girl: HIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!. I AM LIKE TIFFFANNNEEEE! WOW! ARE YOU LIKE ZANE?????

z: ummm, yes.



Oh and when we went for PICK UP, we were told to kindly pull forward and buckle our child into his seat once we were clear of all traffic. Like the kind that might rear end us and send our unbuckled child into the front seat. All with the raised eyebrow that clearly says, duh, do we really expect them to do EVERYTHING?!

The most important thing, as you all know, is that z had fun at day camp. Highlights included the girl who pulled down her pants and the boy who had an endless repertoire of potty jokes. So my dream for day camp is not that far away, is it? Next time; however, I am asking for the staff's driver's licenses.

This One is for Julie, Ma'Gerl



There must be something about summer that makes us older folks start reminiscing. Everyone I know (and read) has been wistfully, and in some cases, wincefully, recalling the wild days of their youth. When I think of those days, I am like my teenaged self in church, the Sunday morning after, alternately blushing and giggling as I flash back to the scenes of the previous evening.

I was able to revisit those days in the best of all possible ways with my best friend from the same, Julie, last night. As we now have families and the obligations thereof, we were limited to the phone, but it was still a rich, and at times, enlightening conversation.

We recounted experiences that ranged from eighth grade in a Catholic school to separate Catholic high schools (her's all girl; mine coed); my stint at college and her embarkment on a career, and all the shenanigans and subsequent men met, loved, and crushed in between.

Her memory prevailed when mine failed, and vice versa. We spent a good five minutes trying to recall the name of a boy that was a good friend of mine and had a crush on her:

Me: His name was John, or Jay.......he looked Jewish; but wasn't, and had big puppy dog eyes.

Julie: Hmmm, give me more.

Me: Remember, he took Kathleen to the prom under duress.

Julie: Now, HER I remember. (Rolls eyes. Yes, I could HEAR it).

Me: He was quiet and always followed you around.

Julie: (After several more prompts): JOHN FIERABEND!

Me: AhHAH!

Me and Julie: (Hysterical giggling and symbolic high fives ensue.)


We also recalled the times we would go out on the town in her brand new white with red leather interior Ford Mustang. One night she allowed me to drive myself home (she was, uh, otherwise occupied) in her new ride. Of course I managed to smash into the rock garden at the front of my family's subdivision, turning the fiberglass under the bumper to shards. I was scared shitless to call and tell her the next day, but being the sweet and wonderful friend that she is, she forgave me with nary a reservation. Maybe it was worth it. (Just kidding, Jules.)

Of course, not all of the past was about hijinks, guys and malls. There was the funeral of a friend. The death of a mother. A broken friendship. But we are here today, supporting each other as we tried to do then, the shadows of our younger selves keeping us bright and hopeful for what is to come. Because, after all, we made it through with the help of each other.

What I love most about my reconnect with my oldest friend is how she can bring to life my memories. Having lost my parents and my misspent youth, it gives me a satisfaction like no other to page through my memory albums with her. Each can recall details the other may have forgotten, relate feelings about experiences shared, and commiserate on events dimly remembered. It all comes to life when we walk down that path together, and share how the happenings that shaped our youth affected each of us. Not least of all, how our friendship made us who we are today.

As I said, we have now grown up and have husbands and children that take up most of our time. We talk about juggling kids, colds, jobs and husbands. But when either of us gets the chance, we take a glass of wine, shut the door, and have a "date" on the phone. For that hour or so we are 12, or 17, or 25 again. Friends like Julie are one in a million. I don't have to explain where I come from; she was there. I don't have to apologize for where I have been or what I have done, she was there. I never regret the angst and emotions I express to her now, because she is here, and always will be.

I hope every one I care about has a friend like that. Because for me, having a friend like Julie is a gift. Here's to you.

CopLand

Next to our house and visible from our front door is what used to be a two lane country road, currently being widened into a four lane thoroughfare. The construction is expected to last until October, and adds at least five minutes to anywhere we need to go. Ah well, this is the price we pay for moving to up and coming Johnson County.

What we are alternately pissed and amused by; however, is the sting operation our local friendly police officers are staging. Because of the construction, the speed limit changes quite abruptly from 45 to 35 mph. Due east from our house, three to four cops can be seen daily until six PM, standing with radar guns pointing up the street. Need I say that due to the incline of the street, they cannot be seen by oncoming motorists until their cars are practically on top of the cop? They wear orange vests (that's right, kids, JUST LIKE CONSTRUCTION WORKERS), and hide behind orange net fencing and construction cones. When they nail a speeder, they step out into the road and motion the car onto the side street to pay the piper.

As a parent, I am glad that our local police force is enforcing the speed limit. But, well, it just all seems so mean. And tricky. And greedy. Yesterday I watched as they stopped 17 cars in one hour. At $77.00 a pop (don't ask me how I know that) our fair city raked in approximately $1300.00. Give them eight hours a day, five days a week, and that's nearly $210,000 a month. Holy Bacon, Ossifers, is our town really that desperate for funds? I hope your superiors are raising your quotas, at the very least.

All I can surmise is that, since this county offers very few expired tags or drug dealers transporting contraband (at least not in an obvious manner), the powers that be must resort to trickery in order to top off their coffers. For me, I'll be adding ten more minutes to my estimated drive time, and going in the other direction. They've probably already pegged me as the blonde whose husband likes to stand in the front yard and yell into the house, "HONEY, I FEEL LIKE PORK CHOPS FOR DINNER!"

Get to Know Me

I am a girly girl, a feminista, a girlbot, and an all around old fashioned type of girl. I love cooking, gossip, champagne, dark chocolate, lacy underthings, and the smell of makeup.

I like mirrors and will practice many pouts and facial emotions in their pleasing reflections. I like the way lotion sinks into my pores, and I appreciate the pop pop of bubbles in my bath. I own a purse sized dog (male) and whisper sweet nothings in his silky ears. I unapologetically take two and one half luxurious hours to get ready for a night on the town. My personal record was five hours for my wedding, and I had a bevy of attendants to assist me. I am one hundred percent, unashamedly, female.

I have a problem with women who proudly acclaim their ability to be ready in ten minutes or less. More power to them but, really, how comfortable can they be at the luncheon with three inches of stubble on their legs?

I knew that Z was my future mate when he arrived at my apartment for one of our initial dates, and upon being informed that I was not yet ready, promptly settled down for a nice little nap. When I awakened him, he proffered a sweet and refreshed smile and said, "Wow, you look gorgeous! Let's see if we can make that midnight showing of Rocky Horror." What a man.

What makes me (and so many other women) unique? The strange little quirks that seem very masculine to the general viewing public.

I don't take shit from anyone, and prior to getting shit, I make it known that it will not be taken from me. Just in case.

I am very sentimental, but I act like a hard nosed Army General when Tragedy arrives. I take care of everyone and everything, and cry later.

I am not afraid of anyone. Don't try to intimidate me, especially if you are a doctor, teacher, policeman, or priest. You are human just like me, and I am not buying it. Oh, and due to the internet, I may well know more about what you are trying to sell or teach than you do.

I can tell you to go straight to hell and make you look forward to the trip, with a smile on your face. I have many ways to do this, including but not limited to, making you a dinner of Angel Hair Carbonara with Bacon and Shrimp; plying you with the sweetest/dryest vintage white or red, and playing Sinatra while I convince you that you were so wrong to criticize me when I informed you of my decision to baptize/not baptize/circumcise/not circumcise/divorce/remarry/convert to Judaism/rediscover my Catholic roots/disown you/become a Buddhist, and finally, come clean and admit my lifelong hatred of you and all that you represent.

Oh yes, you are right, I cannot change a tire. But it will take me 2.5 minutes to find a man who can.

It's Raining.......Well, It's Raining Rain

Boy it's going to be a fun day today. z is not going to be very happy. Can we go to the park? No, it's raining. Can we go to the pool? No, it's raining. Can we play outside? No, it's raining.

Guess I will have to use my brain today. Any ideas?