Today I became a lesbian

As I lay in my bed last evening, curled in a ball and silently crying I began thinking about what is missing in my life. Since Sunday evening I have been sick as fuck--fevers, congestion, headaches, and severe back and body aches--and in terrible need of some TLC. But when God was handing out compassion, the men in my life must have been in the line to get their black, black hearts. Is there anyone to mother the mother? I have found that there is not as I lay suffering in this house of testosterone and tears. So today I decided that what I am missing is a good woman. A woman who loves me and will take care of me. My mom used to take good care of me but ever since I had kids of my own she hasn't been as sympathetic. Also she is a germaphobe. When I am sick it's never, "Oh poor baby" now it is "Don't give it to me!" Damn, old people are selfish! So I find that to get what I really need I will have to go gay.


REALITY--I lay in my dark room for hours with no one coming to check on me. I muster up the energy to yell out for help, again and again, but no one comes. I finally have to use my cell phone to call Alan, who is downstairs, to come check on me and bring me a drink.

FANTASY--My dream woman would be checking on me frequently and anticipating my every need--food, medicine, a cold beverage or my pillow turned so it's always on the cool side.

REALITY--Me, "I am so cold, I am shivering. Do we have any warm blankets." Alan, "No, we don't" and walks away.

FANTASY--Dream woman enters the room, feels my head and says,"Oh, you have a fever you poor thing. Let me get you some warm blankets and tuck them right around you. Later I will draw you a warm bath."

REALITY--My mom comes over to drive me to the doctor while my dad watches the kids. The doctor is an ass and tells me I have an unresolved sinus infection with probable asthma. I think I have the flu but he won't test me. Also I never had asthma until I started seeing you, Dr. Prick with Nice Hair. When I come home both kids are running wild outside and my dad is mad at Sage for not minding and Sage says it's because Papa called his bike a "midget bike." And Sage and Shepard cry as I ground them and send them both to their room. I'm not really that mad at them but I ground them just so I can get some rest.

FANTASY--Dream woman goes to the pharmacy and fills my prescription. She gets me back in bed and puts the kids to work cleaning their room as she sings a happy tune to make it fun for them.

REALITY--The kids are fighting and not letting me rest. I think I snapped because next thing I know I am shrieking like a hell beast on the phone with Alan. I am pretty sure I threatened his life and the life of his boss if he doesn't work from home tomorrow. And I might have said something about shoving things up their assess or down their throats--I can't remember. Alan does agree to come home but then he says, "What are we doing for dinner?" I hear the shrieking again and realize it is coming from me as I reach through the phone and tear him a new one. That's what got me to the curled up in ball, crying stage.

FANTASY--Dream woman arranges child care so I can rest. She makes me a lovely bowl of soup and gives me medicine that tastes like rum punch.

So you can see why I really need me a good woman. Now you men don't get all worked up because the one thing I will not need her for is sex. And there are two reasons for that:
Number 1: That would be gross.
Number 2: I am a woman and I don't need sex that often. Like a camel storing water I can store up one sexual encounter in my hump (my lovely lady lump) and live off of that for weeks, nay months if I have to. And that's not a threat. It's not even a promise. That's a fact, Jack!

A Marked Man

Shepard happily ran up to me and said, "Look, Sage drew on me!!" Along with a yellow star on his forehead, red dots on his eyelids, and various stick figures on his arms, I found that Sage had marked his back too. Shepard seemed so proud and Sage was so pleased with his work. So let's see the close up of that...

The Joan Crawford Motherhood Award goes to...

I locked Shepard in the car yesterday. I blame healthy eating. Here's how it happened.

I pull into my driveway with Shepard asleep in his car seat. I'm on the way to pick Sage up at school and then drop the boys at my parents house before I have to dash off to work and arrive by 3 pm. I had stopped at the house to run in and grab my healthy dinner from the fridge. Since Shepard was asleep I leave him in the air conditioned car with the motor running. However, it wasn't until I shut my car door and hear the click of doom that I remember my car doors automatically lock when the car is running.

I didn't panic because just recently Shepard has learned to unhook himself from the car seat. So I decide to get my dinner and then wake Shepard up so he can unlock the car door for me. I stroll out of the house with my Darth Vadar lunch box tucked under my arm, confidently walk up to the car window and start knocking and calling Shepard's name. The boy doesn't budge.

Knocking louder now, starting to yell, "Shepard, wake up, honey!"

Nothing, not even a twitch.

Screaming now, kicking the door, pounding on the window, "SHEPARD, wake up right now! Mommy wants you to WAKE UP! ICE CREAM--do you want some yummy ice cream? Mmmmmm, I'm going to eat your ice cream! SHEEEEEEPAAAAARD!"

This boy is Rip Van Winkle. I am now in full panic. I call Alan for help--he has a key to my car. He has to explain what happened to his boss and leave work. Then he calls the school to tell them why I will be late picking up Sage. I call work and tell them I will be late because I locked my child in the car--"You locked your WHAT in the car?" Finally, I call my Mother and explain why the boys will be late arriving to her house.

My Mom, "Oh my God, do you think he will asphyxiate?!"

Me, "No Mother, don't be ridiculous, he won't asphyxiate! I've got to go, bye."

Thinking "OH MY GOD, HE'S GOING TO ASPHYXIATE!!" I start frantically banging on the car door again. Some neighborhood kids see my insane plight and come over to help. The four of us start pounding on the window together and calling his name until he finally wakes up. After a minute of groggy fumbling, he unhooks himself and unlocks the car. And the people rejoice.

So here we have another terrible side effect of lean meats and green veggies. In other news, this past weekend I cleaned out my closet and threw away all wire hangers. So that cancels out locking my child in the car, right?

My lap is on FIRE!!

I am driving along today in my ultra cool Oldsmobile station wagon, when I happen to notice wisps of smoke in front of my face. At first I dismissed it as a trick of my mind or maybe another thing that happens when you get old, you know--dry eyes, floating spots in my peripheral vision, and now I am seeing wisps of smoke. But it kept happening more frequently so I decided that either my crotch was on fire or I had some kind of electrical short in my steering column. Now I admit that my crotch is smoking hot--especially since the self-waxing job has grown out--but I am pretty sure it is coming from the car.

I called Alan who called our mechanic, Harvey. Alan then called me back and said that yes, it was probably an electrical short and it is probably fine to drive until tomorrow when they can get to it. However, Alan continues, if flames start shooting out of the steering column, I should pull over and stop driving the car. I am so thankful that I have men to give me such good advice, but they need not worry. If I am going to burn up in a car it is not going to be in an Oldsmobile station wagon going a law-abiding 45 mph, listening to talk radio while I am dropping my son off at art class. If I burn up in a car it will be while I am going 110 mph in a black and silver Lamborghini wearing a thong bikini, listening to Slayer and running from the police. Just saying.

I pity the April Fool!!

I was thinking about my most embarrassing moments today and I realized that all of them have been brought about by my sons. I think it is so funny how people (most who don't have kids) will judge your ability as a parent by how your kids act. You can drill manners and good behaviour into their little pea brains 24/7 but they are still going to act how they want to act. I have always said that having kids is like having Tourette's syndrome. My kids are like an extension of my own body but I have no control over what they do or what they scream out. It's very disconcerting.

Only two incidents come to mind with Shepard. When he was potty training he had a habit of wanting to visit every bathroom in every place we went to, even if he didn't have to go. So one night we were at a restaurant, about to order and Shepard tells me " I have to go potty, Mommy." I told him "Shepard, I will take you as soon as we order our food." So he stands up in the booth, grabs his crotch and starts repeatedly yelling, "OOOOOooooooooo, MY PENIS, MY PENIS!" He did manage to win himself a quick trip to the bathroom.

We were at the pharmacy counter waiting on the pharmacy tech to get our medicine. The man had a Mohawk hairdo, long sideburns, a beard that framed his chin, and an earring or two. Shepard looks up at him and says to me (loud enough for him and the lady behind me to hear), "Mama, he's crazy?" I was stunned for a moment but the guy was standing right in front of me so all I could do is say, "No, honey, he's not crazy." Fortunately, the tech had a very good sense of humor about it and even made a little face and booga-boogad Shepard as we were leaving. Whew!

Now Sage is older and has had over seven years to embarrass his mommy. He started as early as 14 months. He was happily sitting in the cart as I was paying for my purchase at Target. As I finished paying I turned toward the cart to go and found him chewing on a tampon he had pulled from my purse.

Probably the most infamous embarrassment for me was last spring when I was shopping for some pants. First a little background. I am not fond of underwear. It's just never fit me right and goes straight up my butt causing constant pickage. So, a few years back I gave it up and now I am a commando chick, except when I go to work or am shopping for new clothes.

In this instant I was trying to find a pair of pants and had to bring Sage with me in the filled to capacity dressing room. I gave him some books, put him in the corner of my area and started to try on pants. All of a sudden Sage pipes up and exclaims, in an incredulous voice, "Mommy, your wearing underwear?!!" "Yes, Sage" I said in my whisper through my teeth voice which is meant to convey that I want him to be quiet. Yet he proceeds, "I didn't know you HAD any!" My cheeks were burning even though the other shoppers couldn't see me. I quickly made my exit with my head down.

So stay tuned, they are still young, I am sure there will be many more to come.

Why does God hate me?

Why did God make me so undertall? If I were taller then my weight would be fine. But I am a short, and I must suffer. Who said losing weight would make you feel better? I feel like shit--I have a constant headache from caffeine deprivation, my stomach is rumbling one hour after I eat, and I am peeing constanly from all this fucking water!!

Why does everything healthy taste like complete crap. I have to choke down my lovely salad with fat-free dressing and my chicken breast with no condiments. Dammit!! And why do all fat-free dressings taste like I am drinking the blood of a three-toed sloth?!

And my family doesn't help either. The kids are driving me crazy with their constant whining--"Mommy, we want breakfast. We want lunch. Are you going to feed us, Mommy?" Why can't they just give it a rest?! And naturally Alan has to piss me off too saying things like, "Honey, I know it's hard, but you'll get through it. You can do it." Instead of being so damn supportive, what would really help me is if he would get his bitch ass in the kitchen and make me a very large fricking cheeseburger. OK?! Do you understand? I am suffering here.

In fact all of you out there eating whatever you want, with your chewing and swallowing, you can all kiss my ass. And do not let me see any skinny ass size 2 bitches today or I will sit on them and break them straight in two. What have I done to deserve this, God?!

Diet day one complete.

The South Park Diet

Well, I got the letter last week. My 20th high school reunion is coming up at the end of June. So that means I only have about 3 months to lose weight. I need to lose 30 pounds but I will settle for 20. My friend said "Oh, don't worry, everyone will be in the same boat as you. Most of them will look just like you." I told her that I want to look better than they do. I want them to think I am more fabulous than I used to be.

I have a great life and I want my body to reflect that too. I know it's unfair but people do judge you on how you look. Even though I have a great husband, wonderful kids, a supportive family, a house and neighborhood I love, and a job I love, I know people will still look at me and think, 'Too bad she's so fat and looks horrible in her clothes and even worse in pictures.'

So now that all of the Girl Scout cookies are gone and I have had my farewell meal at McDonalds, it is time to get started. I really don't care how I lose it, I just want the weight gone. I have considered many diet options--herion, smoking, anorexia, bulimia--anything as long as I don't have to exercise. There are some people that are born loving exercise and I am not one of them.

Well, after careful consideration I have decided on The South Park Diet. Everytime I want to eat something I shouldn't I will think to myself, as they say on South Park, "G#@ DAMN, THAT'S A BIG FAT ASS!!" Hopefully that will motivate me to shut the pie hole! I have also decided that if I don't lose at least 20 pounds by the deadline, that I will post a bathing suit picture on this blog. A healthier me just doesn't cut it, I need the threat of public humiliation to get me going. I will let you know how it goes. And for your sake and mine, let's hope I lose that 20!

Survival Skills

When a girl sees this video, she will squint her eyes, flap her hands around squealing "Eeeeeeeewwwwww!!" and run away. Leave it to my boy Sage to try and think of a way to work this into a life skill. Sage is very proud of the fact that if he were in some extreme survival situation, he could drink his own pee.





Boys are definitely a different breed!

Chemo Kitty

In the interest of saving money I tried to do a little self-service this past weekend. I attempted to wax my own special purpose. I usually go to the spa and shell out 60 or 70 buck for a good Brazilian. I love the results but I didn't think it lasted long enough to justify spending that much. However, I have managed to prove myself wrong.

I went to the drugstore and picked up some wax made with natural products. I was very proud of myself--saving money and going 'green.' How good of me. So I took it home, stared at it for 3 days and then decided to go for it. My hoo-ha wasn't going to wax itself, now was it?

I followed the directions perfectly, really I did. So how could it have gone so horribly wrong? I started with the left side, applied the wax in the direction of the hair, place the strip on, held the skin taut and pulled in the opposite direction of the hair growth. I screamed in pain for a while. I wasn't lying there in front of Claudia, the Brazilian waxer, so I didn't have to be brave and suffer in silence. When the screaming stopped I looked down at the strip only to find a ton of wax but only about 5 hairs there. Well, I'm not a quitter so I kept trying. Apply, rip, scream, apply, rip, scream and whimper, etc.

The hair seemed to be coming out one at a time--I might as well have been using tweezers. I decided to lie down on the bathroom floor and try it. But that was no more successful than standing. I was so afraid my screams would bring the kids running. I kept imagining being caught lying on the floor with both my legs in the air, wax everywhere and only waxing strips to cover my goods--not a memory I want burned in their brains. With visions of therepist bills dancing in my head, I decided it was time to give up. I am sorry to say my results were not good. There was redness, bumps, some bald spots, and some patchy spots. My crotch looked like a chemo patient.

So this was the scene as we were in the bathroom preparing for bed that night...

Alan, "What is this sticky stuff I just stepped in?"

Me, "Oh, that's just snatch wax. Don't worry, It's organic."

Alan, "You waxed? OK, let's see it."

So I lifted up my nightgown for him to take a peek. First he burst out laughing, then when he saw my glare said, "Oh, poor thing."

Me, "So what do you think? Do you want to do it?"

Alan, "Ummm, sure. Can we turn the lights out?"

I called the spa, I have an appointment next month.

The Fairy Exposed

Alan calls me into our room last night saying, "Come in here, Sage has made a discovery!" So I happily walk toward my room thinking that Sage has done something great--he's found a lost item or made an exciting intellectual breakthrough. I walk into the room to find Alan with a blank stare and Sage holding the small gray ring box that I use to save his teeth after 'The Tooth Fairy' spirits them away. With a sly smile and a sing song voice Sage says, "Mommy, I know your secret!"

Thoughts are flying through my head--How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I hide them better? Wait a minute, they were under a false bottom of a gray ring box that was hidden under tons of junk in the bottom drawer of my bedside table. How did he find that? He's been riffling through my personal stuff, the little terrorist! Crap, how am I going to explain this, should I deny any knowledge of the box or should I tell him the truth? Hell To the NO! I am not going to outsmarted by a little 7 year old snooper. This Fairy will not be outed until I am damn well ready to be outed! This is WAR!!!!

So after going from shocked and speechless to angry, locked and loaded in 3 point 2 seconds, I tell him, "Those are not your teeth. They were my teeth when I was little that I saved." He counters, "But Mommy, there are 5 teeth in here and I have lost 5 teeth." Here's my brilliant comeback...wait for it, wait for it...."SO?!"

"Look Sage, I don't care how many teeth you've lost, those are my teeth. You can ask Grandma if you want and she will tell you that I saved some of my teeth in a gray box when I was little." (Note to self: Call my mom and get her on board with Operation Enduring Fairy.) Giving me a suspicious and reluctant stare, he turns starts walking away and muttering "I can't wait to tell my friends." Oh no he didn't! I was forced to pull out my last weapon and I called after him, "You know, boys who don't believe in The Tooth Fairy don't get any more money!"

Naturally my fury turns toward Alan. "Thanks for the blindside and how could you have let him go through my stuff?!" Alan sputters, "I didn't know what to do! I was in the closet I didn't know he was going through your drawers!" I say, "I guess we better watch where we hide stuff from now on." And I see the color drain from his face when he thinks about the contents of his bedside table, or more specifically 'The Naughty Drawer.' I can imagine the scene he is thinking---Daddy, what's this thing?...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. I suggest to him that maybe he should get a Naughty safe or bury the stuff in the back yard.

I know one thing, Santa and The Easter Bunny better watch their backs. Sage will be gunning for them. Alan and I have had our wake up call. We need better communication, better planning, and most importantly, better hiding places. From now on we must think 2 steps ahead of him at all times. This is serious. We have a clear and present danger, people--He's going to be 8 soon!

Parenting is so rewarding!

Sage had a homework assignment in which he had to pick an adjective and illustrate it. Here is what he came up with...



Isn't it cute how he put me in UVA colors? How thoughtful. I also love how my eyes are huge black holes like they are the pits of hell. I seem to have the biggest and most menacing pitchfork. I kind of like that part.

The F-Word

Sage says, "Mommy, I am going to say the F word." I said, "Ok, go ahead" and he says, "FART!!" Then he laughs and does a little dance. I, for one, have never like the word 'fart.' It just sounds nasty. So I have always insisted that the boys say 'pass gas' or 'poot' instead of 'fart.' But I have to admit that there are some words that, though they sound bad or make me feel uncomfortable, are just the most appropriate word for the situation. Fart is one of those words. And though I may not like hearing it, there really is no other word that does the act justice.

Another word that fits the bill is 'retarded.' This word is a hot button one at the moment. In fact, the GA in my state is trying to pass a bill that will abolish the future and past use of this word in their documents. I can see the point of discontinuing the use of the word going forward. But to go back and change every document of the past seems a bit like PC run wild, not to mention expensive--it will cost the tax payers about $70,000. As a nurse I have cared for many (and loved some) mentally challenged patients. I don't want to offend them or their families but come on, when dealing with the mentally challenged or men, it captures the essence of the situation so much better than the alternatives.

As far as expressive words go, sometimes there is no better feeling than to let the real F-word fly. Since becoming a mom, I have had to quell my use of this word or use substitutions. Saying 'Flibber-di-jibit', 'Flipper-flu', 'Frick' or just plain 'Oh, F!' may be better around the kid but is not as satisfying as a good, loud "F-U-C-K!" It's such a versatile word too. Not only is it an expletive, but it can be a noun, verb, and adjective as well. So many uses--Fuck you, Fuck me, Fuck that, Fucking-A!, I don't give a flying fuck!, Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!, Fucking fantastic! (or Fucktastic), That's fucked up, Fuck no!, Fuck, yes!, and the infamous OH, FUCK! Just to name a few. As you can see, sometimes there is just no better word to express yourself.


So, can I really deny my boys the use of the word 'fart' when it is just the best option? Well, I can for now, but not forever. One day they won't stand for substitutes. I will just have to get used to Sage's F-word. And let's not forget the S-word.....STUPID!!

What's that smell? Oh, it's Love.

Love is in the air. Ahhh...Valentine's Day! The day of cheesy gestures to celebrate our affections for each other. I love it! I relish all of the traditional V-day items--the chocolates, the roses, the cards, cute heart-shaped foods, cheesy romantic songs and happy endings. It's nice to celebrate the more pleasant aspects of love. Because, let's face it, love is complicated and does not always give me the warm fuzzies. Sometimes love picks his nails, OR whistles the same tune over and over and over again until you want to beat him with a bat, OR walks by a basket of clean clothes for a week without it ever occuring to him that he should put them away, OR says "you didn't tell me that" when you told him about 5 times. Alan, I LOVE YOU. I really, really, really do. But you piss me off and you know it! :)


I think God kind of gives some unrealistic expectations regarding love with the whole 'Love is patient, love is kind...not selfish or quick to take offense' stuff. Come on, God, that may be true but you take love and add marriage and kids and you have a tornado of good and bad just whipping your ass on a daily basis. It can make you crazy.

A wise man once said, "If you haven’t contemplated murder, you ain’t never been in love. If you haven’t seriously thought about killing the mother fucker, you ain’t never been in love. If you haven’t had a can of rat poison in your hand and looked at it for 45 minutes straight, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t bought a shovel and a bag and a rug to roll their ass up in, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, you ain’t been in love."
Chris Rock

Pretty funny but it also illustrates how true love can evoke such passion and psychotic thoughts. I've got it! Love is like a natural disaster--it brings us together but tends to leave a lot of destruction in its path. Well, in my case only a little destruction. It's all good, except when its not. :)

So here a love letter to my Valentine:

Alan,

The passion I feel for you knows no bounds. I yell so loud because I care so much. I love you so much that I would do anything for you. Our love is my strength and I could not go on without it. I love you so much that if any other woman came sniffing around you I would smack that bitch down and beat her bloody. I love you so much that if you ever tried to leave me I would kill you, kill you dead. Then I would soon follow so I could be with you. But I would much prefer to grow old with you 'cause I think you would look cute all wrinkly and confused. You are my World, my Heart my Life. I found a quote that sums it up--"My love for you is a journey; Starting at forever, And ending at never." ~ by Anonymous ~

Happy Valentine's Day, Honey! Now come home from work so we can get shit-faced on champagne and do it.

Love ya,

J.Hi

Sage did the Technicolor Yawn

I got a call from the clinic at Sage's school today. He had thrown up and they wanted me to come get him. Sage told me that he had thrown up on the floor in the cafeteria during lunch. Eeeewwww, the worst possible place. I asked what he was eating at the time and he said hot dog and tater tots. Eeeeewwww, one of the worst possible foods to throw up. Believe me, I have been there and blowing tater tots is not great--they're chunky.

As we rode to the doctor's office Sage and I came up with ten alternate phrases for throwing up and here is our list--
Vomit (my favorite being a nurse)
Barf
Puke
Hurl
Boot (heard that one a lot in college)
Upchuck (kicking it old school)
Spew
Ralph
Blow chunks
Do the technicolor yawn

Did I miss any?

The Fives

Five song lyrics that I have found to be true...

1. Every rose has its thorn

2. Love is a battlefield

3. Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage

4. The sun will come out tomorrow

5. When the pigs try to get at you, park it like it's hot

Death Awaits you all...with nasty, big pointy teeth

The recent presidential primaries have made me very scared. And being scared makes me think of Halloween. So I thought I would share our family costumes from this past year. Our theme was Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Sage declared that Shepard is Brave Sir Robin and Sage wanted to be Sir Not Appearing in this Film. Alan is the Enchanter--there are some who call him...Tim? And I am the Killer Rabbit.

Ni!

Lady Psycho Sexy

I am going a bit mad. It comes with being a parent but also living with 3 males. I think that would drive anyone out of their freaking mind. What is it with boys? They are so weird. By the time they are out of the house I will be the one needing therepy, not them.

To give you some insight in my insanity, here is a list of things I have actually said or screamed this past year: (All 100% true)

--Shepard, get your hands out of your pants! And Sage, stop picking your brother's nose!
--Oh, you think I'm the worst parent in world?! Don't make me go Britney on your butt!
--Whose snot is this on the wall?
--I declare no more lick fights!
--No, you are not a Jedi Master because Jedi Masters listen to their mothers and you, sir, do not!
--Whose snot is this on the couch?
--You absolutely cannot pee behind your dresser because you are scared to go to the bathroom.
--Go back outside and get your underwear off the neighbor's lawn!
--Living with you makes me want to DIE!!!! (That one was for Alan, dear husband)

And here is my favorite: (this one I did screaming while others cried)

STOP THAT CRYING RIGHT NOW!!! YOU WILL GO TO THIS PARADE AND YOU WILL HAVE FUN!! IF I HEAR ANYMORE WHINING I WILL START BEATING SOME BUTTS BECAUSE THIS IS FAMILY TIME AND WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A GOOD TIME RIGHT NOW!! PARADES ARE FUN!! FUN, DO YOUR HEAR ME?! FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


"Lady psycho sexy that is me, Sometimes I find I need to scream"

Breakfast Club Brats

I used to love the movie "The Breakfast Club." I loved the plot, the song and the characters. I could really relate to all the pressures of teenage life. So, I was delighted when I came across it on cable one day and looked forward to enjoying a little slice of my younger life. But, oh how the worm has turned. As I watched I was having these thoughts: "You whiny, little brats! Your parents just want the best for you and all you do is complain about them and blame them. Ungrateful wretches!"

This was the moment I realized I have changed in a profound way. I have joined the other team. I have been assimilated. I am now... AN ADULT. It was a gradual change because I did not realize it was happening. But here I am watching 'The Breakfast Club' and having a moment of self-actualization and self-loathing at the same time. I know I am way more uptight than I used to be. I am way more stressed and bitchy than I used to be. I have lost the shiny glow of optimism. I feel the weight of responsibility and sometimes I feel like it is crushing me.

Bender says, "But face it, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. What would you be doing if you weren't out making yourself a better citizen?"

Is he talking to me? Is he right? Am I just an empty shell going through the motions of an adult existence? I take a moment to think about this one. And here it comes--a moment of self-clarity. I spent my entire teenage life dreaming of my future and wanting my life to begin. However, since becoming an adult, I have not once wished I could go back to my teenage life. That future I deamed of is here and though it may be hard at times, I know that it is everything that I ever wanted.

So 'The Breakfast Club' is dead to me.

Bender, you can Eat. My. Shorts.

I'm back...It ain't Britney, Bitch

I am making my triumphant return to blogging. Things got really hairy there for a while when Shepard became more mobile and Sage started school. I was drowning in life. But now I am able to peak above the surface. And, as a drowning victim who suddenly sputters back to life and vomits water over the pavement, I am ready to spew my thought all over this blog. It may not be every day or every week but I will write. I have to write or I may drift to the depths of nothingness and cease to breathe.

September 11th

I wear red today
to honor the lives taken.
I wear white today
to mourn the innocence lost.
I wear blue today
to remember the bond we shared.

I wear red, white, and blue today
because I'm proud,
because I love,
because I hope,
because I can,
because I'm free.