This is my 100th Post, beeeaaaattttcccccheeess! I thought I would commemorate it with one of those 25 Things You Might Not Know About Me things, even though my blog is basically ALL ABOUT ME, sort of....when it is true, that is. You may find it amazing that I can actually come up with twenty-five MORE things to tell you about myself after 100 posts, but unfortunately this blog is the proverbial gift that just keeps on givin'.
Soooo, here goes, no exaggerating, no embellishment. Well, maybe a little. I'll do my best. Hope you enjoy.
1. I used to LOVE to cook, before I had three children. They have squelched THAT pleasure, among many other things I used to enjoy, like oh, I don't know, ALONE TIME and Project Runway.
2. My biggest regret in life is that I did not travel Europe after I graduated, or study abroad. Isn't that bizarre? Considering I am FRAUNCH.
3. My favorite place that I ever lived was Boulder, Colorado. (Self Explanatory.) My favorite people live in Texas. (They always go out with the intention of having a good time.)
4. All of my teachers in high school used to tell me that "I had to work at it," whereas, my brother's intelligence "came naturally to him." Gotta LOVE public school in Kentucky, in the 80's. They were keepin' it REAL back then. I have since confirmed several staff/student intimate relationships at that time, so tact and scruples, not to mention decency and statutory rape laws, were not exactly a priority for them!
5. My best friend is getting a divorce and there is nothing I can do to take the pain away, but listen, and it kills me.
6. Every time I have the opportunity to make a wish, whether it be a stray eyelash (we always make a wish, do you? You should.) or candles on a birthday cake - I wish that my family will always be healthy and happy.
7. I have anxiety, but I work on it everyday. Do you like my blog? Why don't you like my blog? How about this post? Do you like this post? What in particular, do you like about it?
8. My mother needs a kidney, but she will not even let me get tested to see if I am a match. I am scared that I am a match, but I want her to have a better quality of life, so I am ready to give her one. Soo...if you know anyone who has a third kidney....we'd be interested.
9. My Dad is the reason that I love and hate sports. I love playing them, but I hate watching them. Major bummer for Brad because that is all he does is watch sports. If HBO and SHOWTIME did not have series, we would no longer be married.
10. When I was young, I ran into a corner of two walls while running down a hall, and I split my forehead open and got 14 stitches. It deadened the nerves there, and it is the reason I do not need botox in my forehead. Cindy Tzagournis wants me to get it anyway because she says women my age should not be able to move their eyebrows. "It just looks unnatural".
11. I used to think that I would never love Scarlett (my dog who blew my knee out) more than my beloved deceased dog, Elaine... but I do.
12. One of the best decisions I ever made was to marry my husband, Brad. I was sure then, and I am sure now. Even though I don't act like it once a month. Sorry, Boo.
13. My Dad taught me how to serve in tennis. It is very fast, but very wild. One of the saddest days in my life was when he told me he was too old to play with me anymore. One of the saddest days in Christina McKenna's life was when she was told that she was to be my partner. Hey, everyone, including my partner, needs to be hyper aware, when I am serving. It might be coming to you. Even if you are on my side of the court.
14. I used to fight with my Mother every time we would shop together when I was in high school and college, but now we like the same things, and she loves to buy them for me. I am determined to break the cycle, so everyday when my 10-year-old, Hallie, leaves for school wearing the latest fashions that the "Shake It Up" collection at Target has to offer (I am a firm believer that if you own a shirt that has an attached vest that ties in the front, you should rethink your wardrobe choices), I wince a little and then let it go. Pick your battles, right?
15. I learned how to decorate from my Mother and my Mother-in- Law.
16. I hate Madame Alexander dolls because my Mom and her friends used to collect and obsess over them. My Mom keeps giving them to my daughters and they love them. I purposely avoid their steely gaze whenever I am in their rooms.
17. I would rather have people over, than go out. Even if my house is messy.
18. I make a killer chili. It has jalapenos in it and is served in a bread bowl over rice. It is a hybrid of Texas and Colorado.
19. I hemorrhaged with my first child, Hallie, and almost had a blood transfusion. I had to sign a paper before I went into surgery for a DNC the day after my C-section that consented to a procedure that might keep me from having any more children. I have three, thank GOD, but it was a very scary time for us. My Mom remembered that she had hemmorhaged with me, shortly after that. Woulda have LOVED to have known that when I asked her her medical history, when I was first pregnant! Oh well, if I have learned anything while being a parent, everything is always the Mother's fault, even when you are thirty.
20. I am ambivalent about aging, so far. I recognize that it is happening, but I am too busy to care.
21. All of my favorite memories involve my family, good and bad. I believe that the measure of a person is how they deal with the bad things in life, because it is easy to be your best when things are good.
22. I believe that everyone exists on a spectrum, in terms of doing things that are right and wrong. No one is all good, or all bad, we all just vacillate between the two, except serial killers and pedophiles, of course.
23. I think jelousy is the worst emotion anyone can feel. Nothing good can come of it.
24. I hate experiencing what it means to be a girl in adolescence with my three girls. It is infinitely more difficult than what I experienced, and it is one thousand times more awkward and hurtful.
25. I would like to be a writer one day (i.e. get published) but if I don't - that's OKAY.
Thanks to all of you who have been reading my blog, it has given me a HUGE boost of confidence, and I am extremely grateful for all of the support and sharing of the posts. It was a big leap of faith for me, and I think it has worked out because I am blessed with a large community of family and friends who believe in me. I have to go now, though, because I am due to translate my blog into other languages and I don't want to be late. Just kidding. You all know there is an app for that. Take care and thanks again. You all are the BEST!!!!!!
The pic above was taken on the first vacation Brad and I took alone together after having Hallie. It is one of my favorite pictures of myself (if I can say that without sounding like a douche) because I was fancy from head to toe, and that almost never happens now. I am also ten years younger. So, please know that this picture is NOT representative of what I look like now. I have gone WAY down hill, and have become a huge hag. (It is like those people who use pictures of from a long time ago for their Facebook Profile picture. Hilarious.)
Letting myself go.
ANYWAY, Brad's friend and mentor, David Dunlap, surprised us upon arrival to our hotel, on that vacation, with a round of golf for him, and a "day of beauty" for me. It is the first and last time I have ever had my hair done professionally. I guess not everyone lies on a spectrum... some of us are just GOOD.
For Labor Day Weekend, Brad and I visited Denver, Aspen, and Snowmass- with two other couples. One of these couples, (we'll just call them "The Gillies") grew up in Arlington, Ohio, and moved to Denver from Granville, Ohio, and the other couple is the Whybrews (allegedly), our friends here in Westerville. The boys all grew up in Arlington together, and the girls all get along great, just by happenstance. We used to have a regular trip with them in the Spring, but this year we decided to go and visit The Gillies, out in Colorado. The JazzAspenSnowmass was the "impetus" for the trip, but if we were all just honest with ourselves, it was really just an excuse for us to reunite and do what we do best - go on a three day bender, while we listened to live music, instead of our iPod.
Ok, let's break this baby down into categories:
1. Denver, Revisited
2. Aspen and Malachi
3. Snowmass and the Celebrity Sighting
4. The Jazzfest - Steely Dan and The Zac Brown Band
5. Why I LOVE America
Denver, Revisted
My beloved City Park
Okay, Brad and I stayed the night in downtown Denver on Thursday night. Scott Gillie had a "business meeting" right near us, so he met us for drinks at our hotel, late afternoon. This may or may not have altered our reality later. I cannot be sure. After Scott left, we showered, got ready for dinner, which included my continuous warnings to Brad to "layer up" as we were "back in Colorado", for I had been tuning in to Weather.com, on a continuous basis all week, which had indicated that the nights would be "chilly".
Brad was wearing a fleece jacket on top of at least two layers, and I had a long robe-like sweater on, when we exited our hotel. The first sign we saw was a homeless woman in a bikini top. We continued to walk. My brow and upper lip started to sweat. I began noticing that everyone walking around was in shorts and flip flops when Brad exclaimed, "I'm HOT. Let's go back to the hotel."
We promptly turned around and entered the freezing cold, air conditioned dining room and ordered more cocktails. CLASSIC.
The next day, (don't worry, I remember my promise), we headed out to our old stomping ground, City Park, to see if our duplex had been renovated. Here is what we found. The second picture is the porch I used to sit on to watch the Ho Parade.
Our ghetto home
My pathetic patio
It was as if time had stopped. There's just nothing as charming as a chain-link fence, is there? Next we went to City Park. It is pretty much the same, but a little more user friendly. There are still homeless people sleeping on benches, and catching their meals in the ponds adjacent to the lake, but I spied Disney World-like features like this one, that were not there before.
A curious addition
That afternoon, we picked up The Whybrews at the airport and traveled to the Gillies house in Evergreen. I wish I had had the presence of mind to take pictures of it, but I didn't. It might have been awkward anyway, though.
Anne and Scott's house could be in "Colorado Magazine". It was exquisite. They are going to move, though, because they hate their neighbors, and frankly, because Anne gets bored easily. Scott drove his awesome Jeep with the three boys, and I drove the girls to Aspen. I laughed until my sides hurt. The boys kept driving up beside of us, mimicking us, by mime laughing and slapping their legs and stuff. They are so stupid. We knew they couldn't possibly be having as much fun as us, though, because the Jeep is really loud, and they wouldn't talk about anything of any importance if they could hear each other anyway. By the end of our trip, each of us girls had experienced every emotion on the spectrum. Aren't women awesome? Pic below is at the Continental Divide, reminds me so much of Hocking Hills. NOT.
Kim, Paul, Me, Brad
Aspen
Brad, the poser
So we stayed at The Gant, in Aspen, and we met up with some friends of Anne and Scott's there, Janine and Ralph. Without going into too much detail, they live on a Catamaran, with their two small children, most of the year, and then Aspen the rest of the year. I could never quite figure out how they made a living, but I overheard Ralph saying that he was doing paperwork in his office one morning, so he does something other than sail and ski, I am just not sure what That is.
Okay, the night we went out in Aspen, Janine and Ralph, showed up with her 18-year-old nephew, Malachi. Of course, that is not his real name, it is the nickname we all bestowed upon him, behind his back, (I never absorbed his birth name, natch. Why bother.) because (yes) he was a dead ringer for Malachi, from the movie "Children of the Corn". It was disturbing, to say the least. He is probably one of the most off-putting people on the planet, to boot. Let me put it this way, I was OVER Malachi within about 30 seconds of meeting him.
Malachi is one of those adolescents, who thinks that everything that comes out of his 18-year-old mouth is a revelation to those around him. I mean, when was the last time an 18-year-old said something prophetic to you, that actually had takeaway value? Oh, I know! Call on me! When I was under 18.
Malachi trapped me several times, and on one occasion went on and on about how he had "never had to pay for weed in his life" and that "he was at a crack house just the other day" and he "actually didn't go in, but sent someone else in for him" and then that said crack house was featured on the news "THREE DAYS LATER" because it was "ON FIRE, DUDE!"
"Really, I used to be a social worker in Denver, " I trumped, "I used to conduct BUSINESS in crack houses." I feigned boredom. BOOM. Take THAT Malachi. You've probably never paid for weed in your life because people are afraid you are going to off them with your razor sharp corn husker, you douche.
We endured Malachi's nonsense all night, including his backward jump off of the top of a swing set, until he stopped being tolerable when we were denied entrance into a bar, because he was underage.
me, Anne, and Kimmy
Moving on. The next day, we hiked up the Ute in the foothills of Aspen. It was switchback after switchback (zigzag), all the way up. I had missed my friends, Kim, Anne and Scott, leaving for the hike, because I was eating a very large breakfast by myself, as I actively engaged in people-watching that rare breed that is "Aspenites", and I could not break away. My favorite past time is called "Find the Texan". It's not that hard. Just look for the gigantic engagement ring and then connect it to it's Sugar Daddy.
Anyway, I went up the hill by myself to catch up to my Buds, and I found them about ten minutes from the top, on their way down. I thought I was going to die, my heart was pounding so hard. I had foolishly brought my coffee instead of anything hydrating, so they gave me the rest of their Gatorade and asked me the question that every person I had encountered on the trail that day, had asked me before them. "Is that coffee?????"
So, they told me that I only had ten minutes to go, which I found out later is the time frame Scott gave everyone at varying points of their journey up the mountain. Whenever anyone would ask, "How much longer?" panting, as we passed them on their way up the mountain. Whether they were just starting out, or midway through, Scott would always respond, "About ten more minutes," and they would breathe an exaggerated sigh of relief, and thank him, and then when they were out of earshot, we would giggle our asses off.
ANYWAY, what I am TRYING to get to is that I passed Kim, Anne and Scott on the mountain as they were descending and I was ASCENDING, and I was clearly in trouble physically, so I bid them ADIEU, cause I'm FRAUNCH, and as I turned my 1000th switchback, I was delighted to see Scott, right behind me. He had left the girls to go down the mountain and came to find me to escort me UP the mountain that he had just hiked. THAT is a friend. My heart melted. Here are the pictures we took at the top. I am not sure I would have made it without him. There is a good chance I would have just lied and told everyone how beautiful the view was when I got back, after I sat down and waited out the "ten minutes" it would have taken to reach the top. It took twenty, natch.
Me, Breathless
Scott, not even winded
Snowmass and the Celebrity Sighting
So after our hike, we drove the ten miles to our NEXT amazing destination, our condo, in Snowmass. We stayed at Capital Peak Lodge, which was a breathtaking, newly renovated condo complex, located at the Base of Snowmass Mountain. Our only complaint was that it was difficult to find our condo, at first, but this may have been due to the fact that we were all operating on 1 cylinder.
One of the funniest things, and there were MANY on this trip, believe me, was that Paul Whybrew, when put in charge of a beer run, before we went to our condo, actually bought NON-ALCOHOLIC Coors! As if THAT is not hilarious enough, (I had never even drank non-alcoholic beer when I was PREGNANT!) the boys actually HAD a few before they realized what they were drinking! God, that is STILL freshly hysterical to me. Is it to you? We were a big, steaming pot of hot mess, fo sho!
Paul, drinking alcoholic beer...Love him!
I cannot express what a gorgeous condo this was. It was a three bedroom, updated gorgeous, ski in, ski out condo that included a pass for the duration of your stay to the Snowmass Athletic Club. Kim, Paul, Brad and I decided to check out their pool, which Anne had described as "amazing" and it did not disappoint.
Upon arrival, you are greeted by flavored water and fresh fruit, and for us, a celebrity sighting of none other than Miss Aspen, herself, Goldie Hawn! She passed right by us, and I overheard KURT say, "Ya ready, Hon?" and she responded by singing in her cute, perky voice, "Reeeaaaddddy!" I caught her profile on her way out, and unfortunately, for her, her lips looked like a character from Fish Hooks, the show my kids watch. Pity.
At the hot tub, we met this really nice couple from Denver, and he was telling us that the Athletic Club, (which has lodging, as well) runs specials whenever there is a concert in Snowmass. Apparently, when Phish, the band, was there, the tranquil, immaculate, Zen pool that we encountered at the Club, was transformed into a modern-day Woodstock Revival, where there was not a spot on the tony slate deck of the pool to be found, and the pool was positively FILLED with dirty hippies smoking pot. Needless to say, The Snowmass Athletic Club will not be running that special again. I was immediately reminded of that scene in Caddyshack, when the Caddies invade the pool at Buschwood. LOVE stories like that.
The Jazzfest - Steely Dan and The Zac Brown Band
Jazzfest in the Daytime
Okay. The boys all love Steely Dan. So does Kim. She also likes Stella beer like them, but that is where her masculinity ends, thank God. I remember Steely Dan as being unhip music that came out when I was listening to Lucky Star, by Madonna - a thorn in my side if you will. Something that I would endure on my mini boom box until "Hey Mickey" came on.
The boys
Everyone else was totally into it. Those Arlington boys just loves them some classic rock! Here is some hilarious footage I found on YouTube. This is for you, Brad, Scott, and Paul! See how they are dressed funny? That is because they were performing decades ago, when they were actually POPULAR. Ya' dig?
Just so you understand, I thought up until this concert, I thought the lyrics to this song were, "Are you reeling in the yeast, throwin' away the thyme, are you gatherin' up the cheese, have you had enough of mine," and it was about making bread.
I sang these lyrics, at the top of my lungs, during the concert, for all my friends and those who I did not know, surrounding me, for their amusement. Or not. Who cares.
Me and the adorable toddlers!
The pic above is one that Kim took because I was having trouble working my camera. It may be difficult to see, but it is a pack of young people (probably in their early twenties) with fur animal hats and paws on as they wildly danced. They were dancing and giggling and having a great time, and I was entranced by them, because they seemed to embody YOUTH, to me.
I am in the picture on the left. I told them I needed a picture with them to show my girls, but of course I was thinking of YOU, my audience, and my blog.
At one point, a cougar, I mean the real kind, with a breast augmentation, and Juvederm, stole one of their animal furs and was dancing provocatively with it on, in a red dress suitable for Studio 54. All of the toddlers, watched her in disgust for a while, and then collectively, took their hats off, so as to not be mistaken for a half-breed like her. Hilarious.
Way to ruin the moment for everyone, ya' old coug'.
Okay, my two favorite quotes of the weekend came from each concert, and were apparent knee-jerk, emotional responses, to the musical stimuli being presented to them. During the Steely Dan concert,
an older woman, whom I actually met later at an apre party in a vintage trailer (It was Jeanine and Ralph's, natch.), actually screamed out during the song Hey Nineteen, "I LOVE YOU, STEELY DAN!" and then gathered herself as she looked around her to see if anyone had just witnessed her regression back into a teenage groupie. We had. We all stood around her with our mouths agape, and then uncontrollable laughter followed.
Yes, it became my mantra, and I yelled out, "I LOVE YOU, STEELY DAN!" and "I LOVE YOU, ZAC BROWN BAND!" more times than I should have been aloud to, but to me, it just kept getting funnier.
I just love gutteral concert exclamations, don't you? Listen for them at your next concert. They are priceless.
And, Finally...Why I LOVE America
Now, I've been to my share of Zac Brown Band concerts and I know some of the set lists. On this one, in particular, is "America the Beautiful," which is my favorite patriotic song to date, oh, except "God Bless the USA." Not.
Anyway, let me set the stage. It is dusk. We are surrounded by mountains. The portable stage is lit up like fireworks. Zac goes into "America, the Beautiful". Someone in the front, middle of the crowd raises this enormous American Flag and begins waving it, while we sing one of my favorite songs on the cusp of the 10th Anniversary of the most tragic event of my generation, and tears well up in my eyes. "Nothing could be more perfect than this," I think to myself, as I sing and sway in time with the flag. It is one of the most moving and patriotic things I have ever experienced.
"It just sounds so GOOD!" a concert-goer yells from behind me. I immediately recognize this voice to be my husband's. He adopts this kind of high pitched, throaty, hyena-like "concert yelp" whenever he sees someone live and he is enjoying them. It is beyond bizarre, and yet mesmerizing, at the same time. Anyone who knows him well, knows EXACTLY what I am talking about.
I wheel around and ask him if he was, in fact, the person who just told, um, everyone, and no one in particular that he likes the way Zac Brown sounds.
I responded with, "I LOVE YOU ZAC BROWN!!!" and then I started all that bullshit again.
I laughed until I crossed my legs and then it was time to hobble to the port-a-potty. Damn kids! I'll never be able to hold my pee, again. And this is a serious travesty to someone who drinks a lot of coffee (and liquids in general) and likes to laugh.
I could not find any video of that moment (the flag waving and the song, not Brad's hilarious exclamation), and maybe it's just as well, but the footage above gives you an idea, and it is one of my favorite songs.
If you can make it to Snowmass or Aspen in the summer. DO IT!!!! I lived in Colorado a combined three years and the summertime is where it's at. I could not believe the deal we got in Snowmass for our condo. According to the dude we met at The Snowmass Athletic Club, I mentioned above, two weeks after Labor Day is the cheapest ever, and then they literally close down until the "Turning of the Aspens".
At the condo, we got rides from the staff everywhere. There was a shuttle that went around town, and a gondola, but all we had to do was call our guy and he was happy to take us anywhere we wanted. Let me know if you need any more details, and as always.... Thanks for playin'.
Tomorrow, I am going back to my beloved Colorado, for the first time since we left 13 years ago. We lived in Boulder, when we were first married, and then we moved back to Denver, when Brad finished graduate school. The deal was that if he was going to make me leave Boulder, then we would move back there, if he did not have a job, out of graduate school.
This put me in the very precarious position of hoping that he did not obtain gainful employment, after working shit job after shit job, and eating frozen pizza four days a week, so that we could go back to Colorado. Due to the wretched economy in the late nineties, and his ever popular "Sports Management" advanced degree, I got my wish.
We sold our car, and I got a job at a Arapahoe House, as a drug and alcohol case worker ( I know, right?), so as to give us just the tiniest bit of stability, and we were OFF like a prom dress! We lived in a duplex, a few blocks from City Park. It was not a traditional duplex -it was a house that was divided into two parts, and it was extremely quirky. For instance, our only bathroom was on the second floor, so if you were watching t.v. in the family room downstairs, you had to trek up two flights of stairs, to go to the restroom.
When we were shopping for rentals, we had some friends who lived in Boulder, and worked in Denver, and the one piece of advice they gave us was, "Whatever you do, get as far off of Colfax Avenue, as you can. It is famous for being the worst street in Denver."
Our duplex was two houses from Colfax. It is not easy to find a place who will accept pets, and has a yard, with a budget of $500 a month, which needs to include utilities, in two days. This was to be our destiny, and we embraced it.
There were so many weird and hilarious times in that house, I don't know where to begin. We were DIRT poor, and I mean, DIRT poor, as in some of my clients lived better than I did, but we didn't care, and we had a BALL, and we somehow got by. I do not ever remember struggling to pay bills or anything, and we always had groceries and went out, but I do remember not going home to see family (unless they paid for it), or going to any weddings (Sorry, Cindy and George) or anything, because we could not afford to fly.
Oh, wait...I just had a recovered memory that we borrowed $500 from my parents once, maybe twice. Put it on my tab, I guess, along with my college education and my wedding.
Okay, what I most remember, are our neighbors, because they were so random. The neighborhood, and particularly our street, was very eclectic, in that it was renovated house, renovated house, crack house, renovated house, crack compound, renovated house, renovated house...City Park. When we moved in our duplex, apparently someone had just moved into one of the newly renovated house near to us, at the same time. Several neighbors came walking down the street, one with some sort of cake in her hands, as I walked toward them with my dog, Elaine.
They were all smiling and waving me down, and as we finally met halfway down the block, they descended on me like a pack of hungry wolves, as they congratulated me on choosing to live on their street, and effusively welcomed me to "the neighborhood". One woman apologized for the random crack houses, which they were at that moment "petitioning the Board" about. I was blown away, to say the least.
I was balancing the sheet cake on one hand, as Elaine repeatedly jumped up and tried to knock it down so she could devour it, as they asked me intrusive question after question about myself, and then one of them goes, "Soooo, are you all moved in? I just LOVE the new porch on the front of your house. Who was your contractor, again?"
It became crystal clear in that moment, that she thought I was someone else, who lived somewhere else. There was no new porch on the front of my house. I did not have a contractor, I had a landlord.
"Ummmm, I just moved into the duplex near the end of the street," I said.
"I'm sorry. WHERE exactly do you live?" the woman who was petting Elaine, stopped stroking her and wiped her hands on her shorts.
"I live right there," I said, pointing to our sad duplex, which had neither been painted, nor landscaped in thirty years. I suddenly had the realization that our house qualified for the "crack house" category of our street.
The woman who, two minutes ago, was thrusting a cake into my hands, was now taking it away. "We thought you were the new neighbors who BOUGHT the house right there." She then pointed to the adorable house across the street with a SOLD sign in front of it. "We were mistaken. This cake is for THEM," she articulated. "Oh, well, welcome to the neighborhood!" she squealed in a high pitched voice as she backed away, along with the rest of the pack. You'll LOVE the park!" And they were gone, as quickly as they had come. Hilarious.
I hear that THEY have eliminated all of the crack houses, and driven away all of the Ho's who used to begin their shift at 3pm, and end it, when I was driving to work. They would walk in small groups down my street, to reach Colfax Avenue, as they teetered on four-inch-high, clear heels, which accented their undefined legs (unless they were a tranny, natch). Their legs were fully exposed in all types of weather, and ended at the beginning of their crotch, that was barely swathed in some neon or metallic fabric.
These "Ladies of the Evening", or in this case, "Late Afternoon", would inevitably, top off this ensemble, with a two sizes too small, tube top, that not only highlighted their back fat, but their budda bellies, as well. I used to strain to hear them recount some story about a John, the night before, as they waved their brightly colored Lee Press-On nails in the air, to illustrate some point.
I looked forward to "The Ho Parade", each Saturday, as I sat on my pathetic little concrete, SIDE porch with the iron railing, and drank iced coffee, and pretended to paint or sand some estate sale find I had come across that morning. (Brad put his graduate school education to good use, every Saturday at a golf shop, so I was always flying solo, as I indulged in my guilty pleasure of the week.) This all culminated into the day I witnessed one of my Ho's walking to "work" one Saturday afternoon with a drink in her hand, that (no lie) possessed a long straw and an umbrella, that stuck diagonally out of it. You go gurl! Get yourself in the mood, honey.
Okay, our "housemates," who occupied the other side of the house, were a whole other story. She once asked me to have a yard sale with her when they were moving out, not long after we moved in. I quickly discovered that she was not a ballet dancer, for on the morning of our sale, our front yard was littered with sequin bra tops and G-strings on one side and Tupperware, and fraternity and sorority party t-shirts and shorts on the other. CLASSIC.
Once, when I was carrying laundry up the stairs, and stopped to rest at the landing that had a window over looking our yard, and the alley behind our house - only to spy a street person masturbating beside a dumpster. I called the police to report it, and the officer on the line kept asking me all of these detailed questions, like "What shoe size do you think he wears?" and "Would you say he has highlights? Are they natural, or chemical?" to describe him, so I had to keep looking, over and over again, while I tried to swallow the bile that was creeping up my throat. Finally, the cops showed up about 15 minutes after the perp had finished and walked away, probably because they had better things to do in a big city, than bust some homeless man for "scratching an itch," so to speak. I mean, it's not like he could go in his basement, or take a shower, right?
Anyway, I will forever have that memory burned in my brain, and when I called home to tell my Mother about it, all breathless and disgusted, and all she said was, "Don't you think his highlights had to be natural, I mean he is homeless, so he's probably outside a lot." You see where I get it?
Anyway, right across Colfax was the best Thai food I have ever had, and next to that was an Italian restaurant with the best calzones in the World. On the corner of our street was this little amphitheatre where Brad and I ended up almost every weekend. They had all these great bands that played there and we used to get in half price or free, because we were neighbors, and frequent fliers.
I hear the neighborhood is all cleaned up and homogenized now. No hookers or crack heads. No needles or crack vials next to the benches I would run by with Elaine, in the mornings, at City Park. I wonder if they have run off "Boo Radley", our nickname for our neighbor, across the street, who used to ask me for money, after he would help me carry some heavy mirror I found at an estate sale on Saturday mornings.
You could not drink a beer on your porch or have a cookout, without him coming over uninvited and asking for a "cold one" or a piece of chicken. We always said, "No," of course, or Boo Radley, would hijack your night, and bleed you dry. We quickly learned to politely refuse him at the fence , listen to his random story he needed to tell about "beating someone up" or his having yet another altercation with the police, which was always worthy of one of Brad's COPS episodes.
"Hey, I noticed you guys were drinking beer!" he would yell as he was crossing the street. "You got another one?"
"Well, we only have two more, and if we give YOU one, Boo, we will have to fight over the last one, and that's not cool, right?" I would say as I blocked him from entering our gate.
"Another time, Bro!" Brad would toast Boo Radley, with his bottle in the air.
"No prob." Boo would respond, "Waaaiiiittttaminute, why do you guys always call me Boo?" he would say as he revealed a full set of rotten, crooked teeth."
"You just remind me of a character in one of my favorite novels." I would explain, as I bit my lip, and blinked back tears, to keep from bursting out laughing.
"Oh, yea. Great...Cool, Man." Boo's wheels were clearly turning now. He swiveled on his heels, and would begin making his way across the street, but then he would stop short, turn back around to us, and yell, "Hey, what's a novel?"
I wonder if the gay couple who taught me to restore furniture and make Squash Soup from scratch, still live there? Larry, confided in me that they were not exclusive, as he showed me how not to go against the grain, when staining wood, but that his partner, Gary, was not aware of this arrangement. LOVE IT.
There was the young man who lived next door, whom we gave a very derogatory nickname, as well. He had a gigantic scar that ran the entire length of his skull on one side. We had him watch, Elaine, our dog, once when we went home to see our families, for a week, only to find that Elaine had defecated and urinated all over the house, and had maybe been fed twice. That is what you get when you ask someone to care for your pet in your absence, that has brain damage. He, also, was a close talker, like Boo, and liked to visit us, when we cooked out, while he recanted many of the same stories, over and over.
I think that is why he was able to get a job as a concessions worker in the stands at Colorado Rockies games, because he just had to repeat the same line over and over, again. "Popcorn! Peanuts!"
My advice to you, today, is twofold. One piece of guidance is obvious, and the other is more philosophical. Okay, visit City Park in Denver if you ever go there. It has this amazing view of the mountains in the back, and houses not only the Museum of Natural History, but the Arboretum, and the Denver Zoo, as well. Brad and I and Elaine, our dog, spent a ton of time there. They used to have concerts in the park, and it has this gigantic loop with a lake in the middle that is perfect for walking or riding your bike.
My second suggestion is to visit a place that you used to live, at some earlier period in your life, when your existence was totally different than it is now. Break yourself off a big piece of nostalgia, and share it, or just savor it for yourself.
Brad and I are going back to Denver tomorrow night, and we intend to visit City Park and our old duplex. I am giddy with excitement. I'll report back to you, on who is still in residence, and who is not. Boo Radley is the only person I fully expect to see, because in his words, he "would not take SHIT from anyone," and I cannot imagine anyone running him out of town, without his consent. Unless, of course, someone finally gave him that beer.
I looked for HOURS today for pics of our time in Denver, while I was supposed to be packing. I KNOW there is a picture of Boo Radley somewhere, but I could not locate it. This is the best I could come up with...Brad, Elaine, and I at City Park. Rockin' the block "O".
The other night, I got a very pleasant surprise when Brad coordinated with my longtime babysitter and emancipator, Ginny, to appear at dinner, unbeknownst to me. Her name is actually Jenny, but when she came into my life, my kids pronounced her name as "Ginny" with a hard "G". Ginny and Meredith are sisters, and when Mills was just 4 months old and Hallie was two and a half, Brad told me to hire someone who could "help out" with "everything." But, everybody with children, knows that just because you have the "go ahead" to get yourself some assistance, doesn't always mean that you know how to go about getting that assistance.
What instigated all of this was that a very close friend of mine who was feeling the same way that I was, and who had also just recently had her third child, had entered into therapy. She was lamenting to her therapist that her sessions "cost so much" and "What was she doing?" and her therapist coolly said, "You can either spend the money on ME, or you can spend the money on childcare. You are overextended emotionally and physically. It is your choice. You cannot put a price tag on sanity."
Okay, back to ME, my favorite subject. So, I was strung out and hormonal and sleep deprived and I was getting my two young babies out of my car at the Giant Eagle, and I hadn't slept or showered in days, and I happened upon Deb, an acquaintance at the time, in the parking lot. She had three boys who were probably the age that my kids are now (10, 7, and 4) and she asked me how I was doing and I burst into tears right there in the parking lot and exclaimed, "I just wanna play tennis this summer, and I have NO IDEA how I am supposed to do that!" given that I had just birthed yet another life that left me disheveled, irritable, and clearly over emotional.
To be clear, Deb was just being polite as she was attempting to pull out of the grocery, as I was pulling in, and she had mercy on my soul, right on the spot, and said, "I would never normally give out this number, but my kids are older and she is about to graduate high school, so why don't you call my girl, Jenny, who basically raised my kids, because you obviously need her right now more than I do."
She continued, "She has a sister, Meredith, who is going away to college in the Fall, and she can help you out, too, if you are nice to her."
It was like a modern day Cinderella Story. But, instead of a ball and a carriage and all of that nonsense, It was a parking lot, a sitter, and a fairy godmother in a tennis dress.
Okay. Meredith and Jenny are now and always will be, a part of the Underwood family. I have taken vacations with the two of them on several occasions. One, was a vacation we all took together to Chicago, right after Ginny broke up with her boyfriend, which he attended, (I know, AWKWARD, but that is FAMILY) and the other was a trip Meredith took with us, with Brad's extended family to Duck, North Carolina.
Mere, Hallie, and Mills
Ginny and Meredith visited me in the hospital when Eva was born and I was happier to see them than my own Mother, because I recognized them as my allies, and we were all in this together. We actually consulted Ginny, before I tried to get pregnant a third time, and asked her to sign a contract that she would help us raise our yet unborn child, before we attempted to procreate. If I have not driven my point home, yet, as to how important these two people are to me, I called THEM, before I called anyone else when my dog of 12 years, Elaine, died, because I knew they would grieve like I was grieving...and they did.
Mills' Birthday Cake. I think that is all I got her. Jenny bought the presents, I think.
Ginny and Mere Mere (Meredith's speech impediment nick name) have attended all of the girls' birthdays, and any party or family event, including Christmases and Thanksgivings that were held at our house. On Mills' third birthday, Eva was a few weeks old, and even though I was walking erect, I was not functioning in any productive way, other than to breastfeed, and I remember Ginny conducting the family party, as I hovered above her in a haze, as she put candles on the cake, distributed plates and napkins, and then cleaned it all up after, because I literally had hit that wall where I was conscious, but could not really communicate with anyone.
Jenny, helping Mills open the presents she bought her, while I sat there and stared at her.
When Eva came along, and Meredith was off at Miami University, Ginny used to clean my house, and do my laundry, and take care of my three children one day and one night per week, with such ease and precision, I used to question whether I was worthy of being a Mother in the first place.
Hallie and Eva, before Eva could talk and make everyone angry.
She would always counter, "It's easy for me because I do not have to get up in the middle of the night and it is not 24 hours a day....besides I am YOUNG. I have more ENERGY."
Ginny admitted tonight that she and Mere, Mere actually come each Christmas Day, under the guise of seeing what Santa has brought the children, only to see what Brad has gotten ME. Hilarious.
Ginny was there, and knew beforehand, that I was getting a scratch and dent refrigerator one Christmas, while Brad blindfolded me and led me out to the curb, fully knowing that I was gunning for a new car that would comfortably hold three children, and their carpool mates. She laughed so hard, she had to blow her nose.
I have so many family memories that include Mere and Ginny, that I don't know where they begin and we end. What I am trying to say, is that these two virtual strangers became a part of my family and now they are gone, living their own full lives, and I miss them desperately, if I let myself wallow.
Meredith is still in Columbus, with a fantastic job, and an active social life. (God, I sound like one of those nauseating Christmas letters.) She is successful in every sense of the word. She bought her own house and is living the dream, as she has climbed the corporate ladder and landed herself smack dab in the middle of her "dream job" at the ripe old age of twenty- eight. Given all of this success, Mere Mere offers to take my children on overnights at her house, and is always there for me when I am in one of my "binds," where I send her pathetic texts while she is trying to work. My point is that she makes more money than most men her age, and she continues to accept "babysitting jobs" for me, when she clearly does not need the income, just because I need her.
Mere, helping out with the Santa photo, at the Mall.
Ginny is living in Washington, D.C., and continues to prove herself with her incredible work ethic at Hyatt Corporation, as she is given promotion after promotion in Management. She is twenty-five.
Tonight, Ginny surprised me with Brad, by coming over unannounced with her new beau, Steven, from D.C. He also works at the Hyatt, there. She is "in love" and has finally found "the one".
Jenn, and her Luvvaaa.
Now, I have met and gone out with almost all of Ginny and Mere Mere's boyfriends over the years, and I have embraced each of them with an equal amount of skepticism (Who really is good enough for them that I haven't had a hand in? Let's be honest. Ha!) and enthusiasm.
To me, they are my trial run at being a Mother to daughters who are of the age to actually "fall in love."
They tell me that I am like a "Second Mother" to them, but then I always respond by saying, "How about older sister?" because I am too young to have actually birthed them. Then, they laugh and retort that due to the fact that I grew up in Kentucky, "it is entirely possible." Smartasses. Maybe they are kin, after all.
I am not stupid, though, I always tell them, and I am totally looking toward the future, when my own girls will not confide in me (I rue the day, let me tell you.) and I am simply paying it forward until the time when they can serve as confidants with a moral compass that my girls can trust and learn from, when they feel that I am simply too "out of touch" to relate to them.
I guess what I am feeling tonight, as Brad takes Ginny and her live-in boyfriend, back to the Hyatt (because they took a cab to BW3's to surprise me and the girls. SWEET!) is extreme gratefulness. I am so blessed to have those two girls enter my life, when I was so raw and vulnerable. I mean, seriously, think if it had been someone else with a penchant for kleptomania or something. I was such a mess for so long during my child-bearing years, that someone could have loaded up my entire family room and taken it away and I wouldn't have noticed!
I have learned as much from them, as they have learned from me. They are the Gold Standard, as far as I am concerned. I would want nothing more than for each of my children to evolve into the stellar adults they have become. Their lives have not been without hiccups (Remember when the two of you fought in my kitchen? Good times. Fun cookout.), as all lives are, but the sum total of who they have become, is entirely enviable.
Ginny and I were telling her boyfriend how we became friends and not just business associates, the night that Mere was babysitting for maybe the third time and she asked me where I was going. I was filling up my cooler for Ladies Night Tennis, and I responded, "Oh, Bible Study," and we broke out into a puddle of laughter. We have been best friends ever since. Nothing like a good lie to establish a lifelong relationship with another person, right?
Those two girls helped me to get through some of the best and the worst times of my life, and it was all because of an emotionally charged exchange in a grocery store parking lot with a person I barely knew. You just never know when angels are going to appear.
I almost labeled this post, "You never know what you've got, until it's gone," because I am sitting here remembering how special Ginny and Mere Mere are to my family and I. Of course, the house was a mess, and my laundry was all piled up, so I was able to send the clear message to Ginny that I cannot get along without her. This should make me feel embarrassed and stagnant, but it doesn't, because with friends like Ginny and Mere Mere, you never have to make excuses or apologize, because they KNOW you, and they love and accept you, anyway.
My advice today, involves one of my favorite quotes, and the title of this post, "You cannot put a price tag on sanity." If you are completely overwhelmed or just need a break, find that money in your budget, to do something to make yourself happy.
I know that I could have gotten through that difficult period in my life, when I had young children, without Meredith and Jenny, but it would not have been nearly as enjoyable to me. My point is that everyone's idea of regaining sanity is different. Your idea of sanity may be to catch a movie in the middle of the day, while someone else's may be to take a long awaited vacation you can barely afford. The long term effects of stress can be costly to your psyche and your physical health, which at some point will have financial consequences, that I promise you, will not be nearly as fun to spend your money on as a night out with your husband, or a clean house that you did not lift a finger for.
On that note, I have a wonderful cleaning person, who is looking for more work. She is Brazilian and does an excellent job for me. I no longer need childcare during the day because of school, but my little piece of sanity comes from Sirlys Coco, twice a month. I am not bragging. I have made concessions in other areas, in order to have her. For instance, my primary bathroom, that the entire family uses, because it is the only bathtub, should be condemned.
Please contact me if you are in the market for someone to help you with your cleaning. I so enjoy that half an hour where my house is immaculate, between the time when Sirlys leaves and my children return home from school. I have often thought of having an Open House or a tea, so as to give the illusion that I am the perfect homemaker, but then who am I kidding, right? There is still the yard to give me away. She services many friends and neighbors of mine, and is raising a child on her own. I would love to help the two of you out.
One of my other favorite quotes is "It is all what you value," and if you value mental health, then my advice today will make sense to you. Now, get out there and grab some sanity with both hands, because life is short, and you deserve it.
P.S. I love that I can showcase all of the pictures on my computer that I never use or organize. It is so fulfilling. Also, I am glad that I can use this blog to tell the people I love the most, how much they mean to me.
It SOOOOO could have gone the other way, and become a HATE BLOG, where I just elaborate on all of my pet peeves and things that annoy me on a daily basis. Don't be disappointed, though, if this is something you are interested in. I can turn on a dime. Just ask my Baby Daddy.
I have been playing tennis with my team at Swim and Racquet for four years. Up until that point, I had not had a regular tennis partner, let alone a consistent team each year. Not only are each of my teammates talented in the sport, but they are all just really cool, solid people that happen to make me laugh so hard I nearly pee my pants each week.
Unfortunately, this usually happens when I am serving, and my partner, (we'll call her Christina, because that is her Christian name) turns to me and says something side-splitting that makes me cross my legs as I interrupt the game for several minutes. I can't imagine what it must be like to play the two of us, because we are constantly making cracks and cursing, or cursing in other languages, (like "Shiite," or "Merde" or "Bullocks" or something along those lines) that come close, but do not violate GCTA rules that outline cursing as "unsportsmanlike".
Whatever. If you are a potty mouth, like I am, what is a more productive way of expressing anger and frustration, than while playing a sport? I think, the Universe needs to rethink it's policy of considering yelling curse words during a match, under the heading of "conduct unbecoming". I see it as a natural response to a stressful situation. Normally, I am not one for causes, but this is something I could definitely get behind.
Okay, so the two funniest moments this summer, for me, and there were many of them, is (1) When we played this team that had as one half of it, this very sweet, Zen, and athletic Asian woman. Christina, pulled me aside after a few successful points, which had ended with the Asian woman mentioned above making an error each time. Christina, very dramatically grabs my arm, because I often have attention deficits, and whispers, "I think if we get into the Asian woman's head, we can win this thing."
I am not kidding you, as my partner is finishing this sentence, I look up at my Asian opponent, and find her beating her own head repeatedly with her racquet, while she squints her eyes, and curses herself.
"Ya' think?" I ask, as I nudge her to look up at the scene across the net.
My other favorite memory (2) is when we played this team at this ghetto club, where they had metal cables attached to the nets on either side of ours, to keep it up. Therefore, you had to do the limbo, on every odd game, as you switched sides. It was the perfect height where you could not comfortably swing your leg over without it "goosing" yourself, so you had to go under the cable, which most people would bend at the waist and duck under, but Christina and I chose to bend over backward and shimmy under as if tiki torches were lit on either end and bongo drums were playing.
Anyway, that is not even the best part. The best part, is that Christina and I were winning, and all of the sudden, one of our opponents yells out during a point, grabs her knee, falls to the ground, and exclaims, "I heard a pop! I heard a pop!"
Then, after she has everyone's attention, she (I am tired of calling her "she", let's call her "Bullshit Artist") explains that her knee has been tight for several days and maybe it was a "good pop". She then proceeds to call a "medical timeout," which up until then, I had never heard of, and hobbles off of the court, careful not to put weight on her newly deflated knee, and then eats a full meal and downs a gallon of Gatorade. Oh, and it is about 150 degrees at 10 o'clock in the morning. We are within one game of beating their tennis skirts off.
Alright, to be clear, the previous Labor Day, my idiot Labrador, ran into my knee and blew it out, and at the exact moment of impact, I KNEW that it was a BAD POP. (I mean, is there such thing as a "good pop? WTF!) I don't know if it was my post traumatic stress disorder kicking in or what, but I instantly became infuriated with Bullshit Artist.
I was still bitching up a storm to Christina when the Bullshit Artist limped back onto the court and announced that she would be finishing the match. Brilliant.
We gave up a game because we were mesmerized by Bullshit Artist's dramatic limping around and loud pronouncements such as "I am NOT going to get that! It's too RISKY," when a ball hit at her required any sort of accelerated movement.
After losing that game, it was my serve, and Christina was at the net and right before I tossed the ball into the air for my serve, she swiveled around and hissed, "Hit ONLY short balls, and run her ass around if you can. I'm tired of this bullshit. I've got a ton of errands to run."
Up until that point, I was thinking this strategy to myself, but was afraid to voice it, for fear of either Christina judging me, or getting struck by lightening - whichever came first.
I fell in LOVE all over again with my pal, Christina, which had first presented itself when she gave that girl with the weird serve wind up a nickname. Tennis is about so much more to me than the game, I guess. It is a departure from being a Mom, where you can be competitive in a healthy way, and play a sport you have enjoyed your entire life, and laugh out loud while doing it.
Thanks for a great year, ladies. I really enjoyed your company. I will send you each your critique, shortly after I finish this blog, where specific drills are recommended for each of your weak areas. Just kidding, of course. The only thing I EVER remember about playing with you all, are the hilarious anecdotes and experiences that come out of a clinic or match.
My advice to you, today, is to pick up a sport that you learned to play when you were young, and find a group of people who you enjoy being with, and play that sport with them. I find that in adulthood, playing a sport, requires a lot of thought and effort and money when scheduling it, and obtaining childcare, so I damn well better enjoy myself. Camaraderie is an integral part of any team sport for me, and it makes the experience so much more rewarding and worthy if that is acheived.
Pic above is of my new tennis racquet. It is beautiful. My husband makes fun of my pink strings, but my teammates have all individually complimented me on them. Go figure.
Below are my favorite Sport/Fashion sunglasses. They are Oakley and can be found for a fraction of the cost on Ebay. Actually, you should always buy your sunglasses on Ebay, especially if you don't mind what season they are. There are some great deals out there!
I was first introduced to Adele, probably the same way that we all were - with "Chasing Pavements". I have always remotely liked her music, but this Spring Break, when I visited my best friend, Alissa, did I really get introduced to her. "Introduced" meaning Adele was played breakfast, lunch, dinner, in the car, Happy Hour, and after the kids went to bed.
I tend to have almost "crushes" on certain entertainers or musicians each summer. Some of my favorites include: Zac Brown, Sting, Sheryl Crow, Counting Crows, Coldplay, John Mayer, Kelly Clarkson, and now Adele.
I identify various periods of my life with the CD I was into at the time. There was Sheryl Crow and the Counting Crows, when we lived in Boulder. I loved Sting's "The Dream of the Blue Turtle" before that. I was really into John Mayer last summer. It was Coldplay, the summer before that. We saw Coldplay at Polaris, with Koz, our Japanese house guest, one summer. (See Lost in Translation post). He just stood there while I gyrated around him.
Once, I even took off early from work, to meet Sheryl Crow, at a record store in Boulder before she became a "musical icon," but was too embarrassed to go up and talk to her. I had literally listened to "Tuesday Night Music Club" eight million times before that day, and could recite every word of it, and I found myself dumbstruck right there in the middle of Pearl Street Mall, when there were only probably thirty people in the record store along with me, for her impromptu concert. I have always been guilty of star fuckin' and hero worship, but when it comes to actually meeting someone I admire, there are no words. All I can manage to do is observe, which I am better at, anyway.
My friend, Alissa, and I were talking about summer and CD's one day, not long ago. With the onset of ITunes, the entire way we listen to music has changed. No one buys entire CD's anymore, and then plays them in their car until they can no longer stomach them. Unless you are Brad and the band is Zac Brown, that is. It is a lost art, I tell you, and I feel like there is something to be said for reminiscing about a certain time in your life and it's corresponding "soundtrack".
I think anyone from my generation or any generation before Napster came along, can identify with that. Everyone now has playlists, and just cherry picks from all different genres of music. There is an argument to be made for that, but then these people have just GOT to be disappointed when they go to see an artist LIVE in concert, and they only know two of their songs. Maybe I am just OLD, and I don't like change, but I refuse to cave, and instead will just continue to place the needle on my favorite LP and hit "Repeat" so I can learn all the words to Adele's 21 or decipher the story that Zac Brown is trying to tell in the song, "Jolene".
By the way, "Jolene" is about the protagonist's Mother in the song, not his girlfriend. That, my friends, can only be learned by repetition, and I am PROUD OF IT!
Anyway, the kids and I were coming back from Apple Valley today, and our favorite songs of the summer were played back to back on Ryan Seacrest's radio show, and we were ECSTATIC! Hallie's was Katy Perry's "Friday Night," Mills' was J.Lo's "On the Floor," and mine was Adele's "Someone like you". We were all dancing wildly in the car, (well, as wild as you can get with your seat belt on while sitting in a booster seat, right Eves?) and suddenly and unexpectedly, I got tears in my eyes. I will always remember this as "The Summer of Adele" and it is by far, the best summer I have ever had.
I don't know if I was weeping because of the end of Summer, itself, or because I cannot sleep in anymore, or because I will miss yelling at my kids, or what. I just know that I am at my best when they are all around me, and they are growing up so fast that I just have to hold on to moments like this, and write about them so that they are immortalized.
My pediatrician gave me great advice, once, when I was lamenting some milestone, one of my children had just reached, and she said, "Just feel it...and move on. There really is nothing you can do about it, so there is no use wallowing." This post is my way of "feeling it," I guess.
The video above is of really high quality. I don't know what is more disturbing, my 7-year-old's club moves, or my husband's feet and fingers that compete for the frame, as well. I'll let you decide if we should invest in a Mac video class!
Anyway, you get the idea. This summer was filled with moments like this, which I am sure all of yours' were. The moments were sometimes hilarious, sometimes poignant, oftentimes lazy, and always fleeting.
The video below is live of Adele, and she is singing "Someone Like You". One of the best lyrics I have ever heard are in it, and it describes exactly how I am feeling right now. She writes, "Who would have known how bittersweet...this... would...taste."
My recommendation today is to check out Adele's 21, and 19. Yes, that is the age she was when she produced each of the albums, and they are both fabulous! Just promise me that you will download the album in it's entirety, or buy the CD, because EVERY SINGLE SONG on 21 is Grammy-worthy.
Oh, and while I am thinking about it, you need to hook up your ITunes to Paypal or just use Itunes gift cards to download music. When I was at my friend, Alissa's house over Spring Break, and the kids downloaded some app to their ITouches that kept giving them an "error message". When they pressed continue or whatever, where they had to use their Itunes password, someone hacked in and charged them insane amounts of money, each time they did so.
It is some sort of scam that is happening on ITunes. The only thing that saved ME was that my account went through Paypal. Just to be safe, I have disconnected my Paypal account from ITunes, and we only use ITunes gift cards now. I think it is the safest bet. I am not kidding, the scammer managed to expunge about a thousand dollars that weekend. Alissa got her money back, but not without a lot of drama and phone calls.
As you know, if you have been reading this blog, I have three daughters. For the school year, I have decided that they each may participate in two activities during the school year and I let them each choose which ones, and then I spent an entire day researching the best places for each of these activities. Translation: the cheapest of the lot, the closest in proximity to me, and if they fit into my schedule. Hallie, my almost 10-year-old, (I know, I can't believe it! I desperately need to grow up) wants to continue guitar lessons, and wishes to embark on a Hip Hop class. Mills, my 7-year-old, chose to resume her car payment- like Horse Back riding and venture into soccer, and Eva (who is finally of the age to do an activity without me - not that I have EVER done a paid activity with her in my life because she is my third, and I got THAT out of my system when I did "Mommy and Me, eight years ago with Hallie) wants to do basketball and ballet. I know, she is a weird bird. What can I say? She tests the nerves that is what I can say.
Anyhow, most activities require the anonymity of online sign up or sending in something through the mail, but the Dance Studio that I chose for both Hallie and Eva, asked that I make "an appointment". If you know me at all, it takes a long time for ridiculousity to register with me, but when it does, which is usually 5 minutes before I am about to be manipulated, I become extremely emotional.
So I am taking a shower, which I am peeved about because I wasn't planning to on this day, and I had finished putting away the laundry and cleaning the house and was just about to pick up the novel I had been reading when I realized that I had made an appointment for Hip Hop class.
I become infuriated during my shower, even though I was rebelling a bit by refusing to wash my hair, AGAIN, and relying on my trusty dry shampoo, because why, WHY, must I make an appointment to sign my child up for Hip Hop Class in the first place? Do I need a resume too? Should I bring a video montage? What in the FUCK? I have worked myself up into a frenzy by the time I am picking out yet another bathing suit cover up that I believe qualifies as an outfit, when I decide to call my neighbor, Megan to vent.
I know she is home because she pretends to work on a daily basis but I keep seeing her during work hours out at the Market or some workout facility around town.
"Can I just VENT to you for a second. I am SOOOO PISSED!" I hiss into the phone as soon as she picks up. "I KNOW you are not working so I am going to UNLEASH on you, again, do you care?"
"No problem. That is what I am here for, Doll. Whasssup?"
"Okay. You know how Hallie wants to do Hip Hop class this Fall, right?" I am starting to calm.
"Right. Hilarious. I remember." she yawns.
"Well, I had to make AN APPOINTMENT to register her and Eva for dance class at this place and this has forced me to shower and I AM JUST LIVID."
"Agreed. Very rude. How could they not KNOW that?" she counters.
So I give her the schpeal about the resume and the video and she laughs and concurs that it is utterly ridiculous, which makes me feel better and then she asks me if I need to borrow some of her work clothes for the interview, which we are now calling it.
I ask her if I can borrow "a suit and pumps..preferably a nice navy" and we howl with laughter. "You know, I feel like this woman is encouraging me to let my Freak Flag fly at this point. I should wear a pillbox hat, just to drive the point home," I say.
"You already have one. Why don't you wear the straw one you bought at the Flea Market we went to together? It would make a great blog."
Now it is getting serious. She is challenging me. I decide against it, because there is enough "staging" with reality TV and I gotta keep this blog REAL, man, for the folks in Indonesia, if nothing else.
Megan then asks if I want her to go in my place, like in the movie Good Will Hunting, when Ben Affleck sits in for Matt Damon at a job interview and asks for a signing bonus in cash. (I love his tube socks in that scene.)
Megan intends to negotiate a pole dancing class for herself, as she impersonates me, rather than the cash that I am requesting that she get. We are crying laughing at this point. I need to go or I'll be late for the interview.
I get dressed, put on some makeup and fly out the door, expecting the worst, natch, because the set up is just too brilliant to let me down.
To make a long story short, the woman I interacted with was LOVELY, and HELPFUL, and actually the process of her helping me to sign up was much better than my usual experience where I screw something up and then have to fix it through a series of emails, texts, and phone calls.
She is quite literal, as you might expect, and I am explaining that I need to go and get my checkbook because they don't take credit, and I NEVER posses cash, and if I did, I would not spend untraceable money on THIS, so I try to walk out the door without my paperwork, first, and then my keys.
She snickers and says, "Oh, when I was going through the KID thing, I once lost my keys FOR A WEEK, and then I ended up finding them in the freezer, of all things! I mean, WHY would I leave them in the FREEZER! It's just so CRAZY!"
I am getting into a rhythm with her, or so I think, and I counter, "Maybe it was because you were getting your VODKA out!"
Crickets for a while and then, "Oh, I don't think so. I never drink."
We stare at each other for an awkward moment and then I excuse myself. NIIIICCCCCEEEE. Way to make a first impression, douche bag.
Anyway, my advice to you today is to try out Bartelt Dance Studio. They offer Tap, Ballet, Ballroom, and Hip Hop for all ages. The commitment is for the duration of the school year, but you can QUIT anytime before March if your kids aren't into it, which I appreciate, because I have successfully raised a brood of underachievers, like myself. It is relatively cheap, and you get a discount for multiple children and they are running a special right now where if you get friends to sign up, they will take off 20 per cent of their "order" off of YOUR bill!
What is better than that? Hey, I know what's better... not to make an asshole of yourself when you are filling out your paperwork, but what do I know?
Pic above is of Hallie, when she was four and took Ballet. She was at a recital. She hated it. We quit right after that.
