Star Struck in the Seventies

In continuing with my Summer Stroll Down Memory Lane, I pulled out a few gems I've been keeping in my treasure chest since I was about 9. The TV guide in our newspaper used to have a section where they would post Addresses of The Stars, and I would wait with baited breath each week to see if any of my favorite Sweathogs or Love Boat Guest Stars were listed. I composed very serious letters that I would kill to have copies of now, telling each star how old I was, how much I loved their show or music, my favorite color, my favorite food - you know, the usual. Then I would race to the mailbox everyday, praying that SOMEbody, ANYbody, responded with a letter and/or picture. Here are the results of my earnest endeavor:

Please, Mister, Please. Don't blame me, 9 years old. I thought she had the voice of an angel. My dad had her country albums, and I used to sing every word. Of course, I loved her in "Grease" and wore out that soundtrack album, too. She later lost me with "Let's Get Physical." And what's up with her disappearing boyfriend?

I watched this show religiously, read the books, played "Little House" with my friends who lived out in the country, etc.. I always got to be Half Pint because I had the braids and the huge ass teeth. I thought I really scored with this picture because the whole cast signed it. I didn't realize until years later that the signatures were actually printed on there. Boo.

Another of my favorite shows, although Kris was not my favorite Angel. When I pulled all of these pictures out, I was dismayed to learn that my kick ass picture of Jaclyn Smith and her dog had disappeared. Damn. SHE was my fave. The envelope this picture came in says "RUSH! Cheryl Ladd photo enclosed!"

Recognize this handsome devil? Yes - it's David from "Eight is Enough." See, I didn't go for the obvious crushes - I liked Grant Goodeve over Willie Ames, Parker Stevenson over Shaun Cassidy, Richie over the Fonz AND Chachi. And I couldn't stand Leif Garrett. Something about his overt sensuality probably frightened me at the time (I was terrified of that Rod Stewart video for "Tonight's the Night"), but I always thought the guy had Loser written all over him. Who's crying now, hmmm?

This was a bonus score because I got it as a surprise gift from my junior high principal. He made gold nugget jewelry on the side, and after he sold some particularly heinous pieces to Mr. Schneider and company, he asked for autographed pictures for his favorite students, me and my best friend (Holla, M!). I can assure you we were the talk of the school the day we were called down to the office and came back to class with these babies.

And finally, my personal favorite:

I mean, what 9 year old girl WOULDN'T want an autographed picture of Rich Little, the Man of a Thousand Voices? Especially with the salt and pepper hair, the gold nugget necklace, and the shirt unbuttoned down-to-there? I thought he was HI-larious, and I would entertain myself (and anyone who would listen) with my impersonations of his impersonations of Nixon and Paul Lynde.

Now behold the 21st century version of my star struck letters. Peach came home from school with this one day, totally out of the blue. Please note the coordinating outfits, the spotlights, and "We See Your Love." On the back, she wrote, "Your fan, Peach."

Ghosts of Summer Vacations Past

When I was 12, we went on the mother of all roadtrips to Washington, D.C.. Nine of us in my aunt's Big Ass Suburban. For two weeks. We were only allowed to bring one bag each, and we crammed them behind the third seat, on top of which we fashioned a napping area we called "the baby berth." We left a single seat up for my grandmother so she could crochet her way across America and read the road signs we passed. All of them. Aloud. And the rest of us bounced around on a pallet in the back like something out of a bad driver's ed movie.

The crew included my grandparents, my mom and her sisters, my cousins, my bro, and moi. Again, all of us in one Big Ass Suburban. For two weeks. In July. Surprisingly, nobody ever got car sick, we had only one pallet-wetting incident, and my aunt only had to pull out her gun once. We were stuffed into one hotel room in New Orleans, and around 3 in the morning, the wizards next door confused our adjoining door with their bathroom door. I awoke to lots of banging and slurred cussing, my portly grandfather - in his wife beater, jockey shorts, and sock garters - splayed across the door like a human shield, and my aunt loading her pistol in the bathroom.

Out on the interstate, we seemed to attract an inordinate amount of honks and other "signals" from the long-haulers we passed. We later realized that such attention was directly related to the times my other aunt was napping in the aforementioned baby berth in her cut-offs and Gilley's tanktop, her ample bosom or butt cheeks pressed against the back window. We had no idea. Nor did we have any idea that when my mom and grandfather were trying to park the Big Ass Suburban in a tiny ass garage in D.C. , my mom with her skirt over her head, dancing around and trying to direct my grandfather into the only available spot, that the whole dance/peepshow was being thoroughly enjoyed, and recorded, by the garage attendants.

Being the extremely proud and patriotic American, my grandfather had secured passes and tickets to all the must-sees of our nation's capital. Unfortunately, so had every GD Boy Scout troop in America as our trip happened to coincide with the National Boy Scout Jamboree. Everywhere we went - everywhere - the Scouts were sure to follow. Big ones. Little ones. Ones with hats. Ones with kerchiefs. And all terribly excited to be there. You'd think with all that alleged scouting going on that they would have been polite and orderly. Wrong. They were all, individually and collectively, going apeshit bananas. When we went to Colonial Williamsburg, I saw two Weeblos take out a woman in period dress just so they could have their picture made in the fake stocks set up in the square. The poor thing's beeswax candles went everywhere. And those damn Weeblos never looked back.

It rained a lot, too. One day, we went shopping in Alexandria and left my grandfather in charge of the boys at the hotel. We returned to find the boys poised to nail each other with marble ashtrays wrapped in pillowcases and my grandfather snoring his brains out in the other room. Apparently, the plastic helmets and swords they had gotten at some fort we went to were not nearly menacing enough, so they opted for the ashtray/pillowcase maces instead. My grandfather awoke with a start, yelling, "Dammit, Thelma! I wasn't going to let them hit each other!" as he emerged from the mound of towels the boys had covered him with to muffle the noise - which noise, I'm not sure.

Luckily, we didn't have to make a trip to the emergency room that day because that would have seriously cut into the time we spent at a garage in Nashville after the A/C on the Big Ass Suburban blew on the way home. But that's another story.

Won't Get Fooled Again

Every time I've been inspired to post the last couple of days, Blogger was totally not cooperating, so now I fear my moment has passed. However, there is this one thing ... probably considered Too Much Information, but it's all I've got today.

I am not very brand conscious - I buy something, and if it works or tastes good or whatever, I'm sold. I buy stuff in every price range, but I tend to stay in the low to medium area. That said, I have learned the hard way this week that you get what you pay for, especially when it comes to lady products. After accidentally giving myself TWO Brazilian bikini waxes because the damn things keep flipping over and depleting my underwear drawer at such a rapid pace that I'm down to my maternity bloomers, I have to say that the Target rip-off of Always lady products DO NOT measure up to the real deal. So, when it comes to your lady parts, and the accessories needed therefor, take my advice: Don't be cheap. Splurge on the brand name stuff. Go on, live a little. Your lady parts will thank you. I, on the other hand, must go ice mine down. Now.

This Is Why I Don't Own A Gun

Our house was burglarized today. I was only gone about an hour and a half, and when I got back from Olive's swim lesson, I came in to find the back door molding on the floor. We've been having our front door refinished, so my first reaction was, "Why did they take that off? And how did they get in here while I was gone?" Then I thought, "Did that crazy cat knock that molding off or did it just fall?" Then I saw splintered wood around the back door, which was closed, and I thought, "That ain't right. Must get out. NOW."

The girls were still in the car because that's how I roll - I usually come in first to drop off the stuff and scare off any crackheads who may be in the house (really, I am that paranoid) - so I just grabbed the diaper bag and walked right back out, got in the car, and drove up the street. I called T-Bone to see if he thought I was crazy, and he said no and that I should absolutely call the police. I apologized to the 911 operator and to the police when they got there moments later - I'm sure that this is probably nothing but I do have my children here so I wanted to be positive that no one is in the house and yes I am completely neurotic especially when it comes to safety, etc.. My neighbors were now all out and coming up the street to see what all the fuss was about, and I explained what I had found and what my suspicions were, and about that time, one of the officers came out to say that they had "cleared" the house but that it looked like someone had been inside. Great. They wanted me to come in and see what if anything was missing, and I'm thinking, what ISN'T going to be missing, sure that the whole house would be wiped clean.

It seems that the crackheads kicked in the back door with ease, and without breaking the glass, and went straight to our bedroom downstairs. At first I couldn't tell if anything was missing, partly because I was a little keyed up and partly because I was horrified that I hadn't made the bed this morning. Sorry, cops. Then I saw a candlestick out of place on the dresser, and I was totally creeped out. I even said so. In our bathroom, they went through an old girlie ashtray I keep my throwdown jewelry in - a few pairs of earrings, a stray bracelet, and the like - as well as my very nice men's TAG Heuer watch that needs a battery. Stupid crackheads missed that. I ran to the closet where I've hidden the lion's share of my good jewelry - stuff that isn't necessarily expensive but that I would absolutely lose my shit if it ever got lost, and it was all there. And so was the pair of granny underwear that I threw on the floor when I changed into my bathing suit earlier. Which I was still wearing by the way, with a wet t-shirt and towel wrapped around me. Had to apologize to the cops for that, too.

I went upstairs to check about the obvious electronic stuff, and I really don't think the crackheads had the time or the sense to even go up there. I brought the girls in, and T-Bone arrived shortly thereafter, his eyes quite wide and his voice a little shaky. It's not everyday you come home to three police officers in your house, dusting for prints, and asking if you own any weapons. No, no I don't. And this is a perfect example of why I don't. If I did: a) it wouldn't have helped in this situation because I wasn't even here; and b) the crackheads may have found it and stolen it and killed somebody with it. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn without my glasses on anyway.

The cops kept asking about different items that I might have forgotten about, and when one of them said, "engagement ring," my heart sank. My ring is a little silver band with a heart-shaped amethyst stone from James Avery, and when T-Bone and I talked about getting married and rings and all that, I told him I didn't want a RING ring, because we were already borrowing money for law school, and I didn't think we needed to go further in debt for a ring, and I'm not a grown-up jewelry kind of gal anyway. So, we settled on this perfect, precious ring, and he gave it to me on a glorious night in New Orleans at the Old Absinthe House. I took it off recently to clean it, and with the swim lessons and all this week, I had put it in the girlie ashtray. And the fucking crackheads got it.

I held it together until the cops left, and then T-Bone and I had a "moment" in the garage. The girls were blissfully unaware and not at all afraid that there were police officers in the house. Peach was most impressed that the one in charge was a woman, and she told her about the time she met two female firefighters on a school trip to the fire station. I know she knows that something is up, but I'm not going to say any more than she asks.

I have spent the rest of the day Cloroxing anything I think the crackheads might have touched and running many different scenarios through my head. What if we had been home? Were they here when we got here? Were they watching the house? I am so mad and so creeped out that strangers were in my house, in my bedroom, where I sleep with my babies, that I can hardly see straight. Yes, it could have been much worse, and stuff is stuff, and all that, but I am still furious. Which is another great reason why I don't own a gun.

Stairway(s) to Hell

Friday marked the official beginning of summer at Casa de Bone, and I celebrated by breaking my toe after slipping on the stairs. Hooray! Just as we were leaving for a full day of fun at Fiesta Texas. I broke the pinky toe last year, and it has never been the same, but this time it was the fourth toe, which immediately turned black. I hobbled to the car and limped my way through FT for seven hours, only to get back in the car to drive two hours to a cabin on the Frio River my in-laws rented for the weekend. Everyone else was already there when we arrived (9 folks, 1 bathroom, mind you), and we were told we "got" the king-size bed. Upstairs. In the loft. For which there was a 15-step LADDER going straight up that I had to haul my fat ass and throbbing foot up and down all weekend. Oh, and did I mention I that I was so totally nauseated from the broken toe, the amusement park smells, and the car ride that I ate nothing all weekend but a few crackers yesterday afternoon? Yeah - it was great. Luckily, there were enough folks to wrangle the girls that I napped off and on to pass the time until I could come home to my own bed and my own Super Size bottle of Tums. I did rally for some wading at Garner State Park yesterday - Peach emerged from the water with bruises on her legs and scratches on her buns from sliding down the rock slides, and Olive developed a rash from either the sunscreen we used or something freaky in the water that I'd rather not think about. What with the broken toe, I completely spaced and left their toiletries bag at home, so I was without the hydrocortisone cream, Benadryl, and Motrin that might have come in handy on just such an occasion. All I had was diaper cream, so both my angels went to bed last night covered in Butt Paste. It's good to be home.

Vacation BS

It's that time of year, kids! Vacation Bible School registration! I've seen lots of signs around, and it seems that most churches are using the same themed program - that being, "Fiesta!" - so kids all about town will be partying with Jesus this summer. Ahhh, it just takes me back ...

I went to VBS at some holy roller church the summer before 4th or 5th grade. A bunch of kids in my neighborhood were going, even though none of us went to that church, and what I remember most about the whole experience is that we went at night, and we were transported to and fro on The Joy Bus. It was an old school bus all painted up with crosses, hearts, and flowers, and we had to sing Sunday school songs all the way there - most notably, "I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart ..." The ride was so long, I usually ended up falling asleep on the way there and would wake up disoriented and quite annoyed with all that Joy flying around. Looking back, I really can't believe my parents let us go - At night! To a random church! With me, about 10, in charge of my brother - who was 5! What were they thinking?

The other highlight of the week was when I burned my eyeball while "making potions" in my best friend's mom's bathroom one afternoon, right before The Joy Bus was due to pick us up. I sprayed either the potion or some perfume right in my eye, and it was stinging and weepy for the rest of the week. I had a tissue permanently affixed to soak up all the tears and gunk. I got so used to the tissue that I forgot it was there, and I even had it on there when we performed our Passion Play at the end of the week. Our "costumes" were painted plywood with holes cut out for our faces, and somehow I managed to hold that thing up with one hand and the tissue on the eye with the other. As I delivered my lines, you could hear people in the audience whispering, "I didn't know Pontius Pilate wore an eyepatch."

You Have No Idea Who You're Dealing With

Today I had an appointment at GGMS to fill out the paperwork to formally enroll Peach for next year. Yep, they called on Wednesday, and we got "in" (WooHoo!), but I decided not to tell Peach yet. The plan was to go today, do the paperwork, and then get her a school t-shirt and surprise her with it when I picked her up this afternoon. Yes, I make a big damn deal out of everything.

I showed up a few minutes early, and the office was deserted. I didn't know where else to go, so I stood around for about 10 minutes, and no one ever came. I started wandering around the school, looking for someone, anyone, to herald my long-awaited arrival, and one of the guides pointed me in the direction of another office. Ok, thanks. Now it's 15 minutes after my alleged appointment, and that office is deserted, too. Perfect. I almost started laughing. I came out of the second empty office, and another guide asked if needed any help. I explained, and she said, "She should be here. I'm sure she'll be back shortly. Please enjoy our aviary while you wait." Look - you can distract me all you want, but I ain't leaving here until you take my money and put my kid's name on a class roster. I'll move in to the damn aviary if I have to - just give me the golden ticket!

I sat down to wait some more, and the director came up - again to ask if I needed any help. Well, they sure are polite. I explained, she checked the appointment book, and oh yes, there's my name, and the woman I was meeting must have forgotten and went to lunch. Now it's 30 minutes after my alleged appointment, and I have to go pick up Peach. We decided the phantom woman would call me to reschedule for next week. So, no paperwork, no t-shirt, no surprise. Damn.

I had a couple of errands to run, so after I picked up Peach, we got Sonic slushes and pushed on. I kept checking my messages at home, thinking that if the phantom woman didn't call me within the hour, she better be in the hospital or jail. She, in fact, did call an hour after the alleged appointment, apologizing profusely, and telling me when she was available next week. Oh yeah - watch this. I called her back and told her I could come back right now. BOOYEAH!

I told Peach we had one more errand to run - where? - to sign you up for GGMS! With a big grin she said, "They said I could come there?" Yes, my angel, they did. We skidded into the parking lot 10 minutes later and beat it to the second office before the phantom woman had time to disappear again. No money exchanged hands because I need to get T-Bone's signature on a few things, so I'm going BACK on Monday to turn everything in at once.

It's been such a long journey, but I know it will be worth it in the end. As long as they don't close up shop and turn back into a meat-packing plant over the weekend (insert "Twilight Zone" theme here).

School Daze

Warning: I really wish I could make this a "long story short," but since this issue has occupied the better part of the last year of my life, I don't think that's possible. Make that 4+ years, actually. Feel free to skim. So -

Schools. I used to think those people that were freaking out about where their kid was going to go to school and how they "did" in the "interview" at said school were so stupid. "I'll never be like that. That only really happens in lame ass movies." Well - Hi, I'm Lame. And I know you've met my Ass.

When I was pregnant with Peach, I had the perfect job, which I loved, but I really didn't want to go back to work after she was born and leave her with someone else. True, we needed me to work, but once we figured out how much full time care would be, what was left of my pitiful state-issued paycheck wasn't a whole helluva lot. So, I went back for two months after my maternity leave was up, and my grandmother came and took care of Peach until I quit. I kept my eyes and ears open for jobs that could somehow work around my life at home, and a year later, just as I was about to put in an application with some Horny Housewives party line, T-Bone saw the posting with Law Nerds, and by some miracle, I got the perfect job again. Except for I hated it, but that's another story.

Working from home, especially in the beginning, was quite challenging, so we thought maybe if Peach went to a Mother's Day Out or preschool just a couple of mornings a week, I could get a little more work done. She was about 18 months by this point, so every place I called either was full for the next two years or had no waiting list at all, and I thought, "But why don't they have a waiting list? What the hell's wrong with them?" So we decided that if Peach was ever going to leave the house, we had to get on some lists. Enter that rascal Maria Montessori.

I had read a lot about Montessori education because - have I mentioned this? - Peach is brilliant, and I liked the idea of her opportunity for learning not being defined by her age or some other BS but by her ability and interest in learning. I had some recommendations from friends, so I began the visiting. The first school closed their waiting list for Peach's age group a few months after she was born, so that was a no go. I visited two others - one that was too loosey-goosey, even for me, and one that was more hardcore, so no thank you there, too. And then I went to Groovy Granola Montessori School, and that was IT. I could see Peach a couple of years down the line getting down and dirty with all those awesome materials and working her magic with those little brooms and rags. She would DIG it all. "Yes, please sign us up! Are these the hoops I jump through to get her in here? Okay - look how high and fast I'm jumping! Jump! Jump! Jump!"

And then wait. wait. wait. And get letters three years in a row that say no. no. no. Too full. Too many siblings. Blah. Blah. Blah. I'm glad GGMS is so in demand, and obviously they're doing something very right, but dang. In the meantime, a wonderful thing happened. We had also put Peach on the list for her current school, and although things didn't look good when we applied, a month before school started when she was three, they called with a spot. "Yes, please, we'll be there tomorrow." And we loved it for the next three years. Although it was technically our "second" choice, I could not be happier with her experience there, and I would love for Olive to go there as well. However, every year when we got the rejection letter from GGMS, I thought, "Well, GGMS has elementary classes, too. Surely we'll get in by then."

Silly, Lame Ass. Our story picks up in October when GGMS called with an opening! "Yeah!" Right then. "Oh." In the lower elementary class. "But, she's only 5," I said, "and besides, we're committed to her current school for the year, and we couldn't leave now even if we wanted to." Which we didn't. "But ... how does it look for next year?" GGMS told me to call in February because we were so far up the list, since we had been on it for frickin' ever, and we would see about getting Peach in for the fall. So, I was feeling pretty good. The goal was in sight, or so I thought. I went to the Open House in January to see if this was still all I'd built it up to be. I cried the whole way home because I was even more certain that that was where Peach belonged. I called in February (around the 5th - I didn't want to look TOO desperate), and GGMS basically said we'll call you in March, IF there's a spot. March comes and almost goes, and I couldn't stand it. So I called and was told that the enrollment process was just about over and so if I hadn't heard anything yet, it probably wasn't going to happen. "OK. That's what I figured, BUT here's why I'm calling ..." and I relayed the October and February conversations I had had and was then told, "Oh, yes. Peach. Oh - she's six. And she's a girl. That's what happened." Um, what? Too many 6 year olds, too many girls. "If she'd just been a boy, she would have gotten in." And so it starts ...

Everyone keeps saying, "Peach will be fine, wherever she goes to school." But I don't want her to be "fine." I want her to be challenged and excited and acknowledged. She loves learning, and we want to foster that attitude as long as we can, and I really think that a Montessori education, at least for a few years, is the perfect avenue for that. But, I digress.

So, I thought, that's it. The dream is over. Until two weeks ago. GGMS called and said there's a spot and are we still interested and when would we like to come visit, etc.. I was so stunned and uninspired in my answers, I'm sure it sounded like I had been napping, but I was really just so surprised. We went today, glowing teacher recommendation from her current school in hand, and Peach loved it. She had just said the day before that she wanted to draw her own cartoon characters this summer, and the class we visited was studying animation. In the parking lot, we had just had a conversation about Roman numerals, and there they were, posted on the wall. They had fish and a frog, and she excitedly told the guide about fishing for tadpoles and all the frogs we have around our house. And the guide listened to and engaged her further, and you could just see those little wheels spinning. She totally gets it. I love that. T-Bone loves that. And I know if Peach goes to GGMS, we'll see more of that.

Kewt 'n Kuddlee Kidz Korrall

I hate it when child care centers and preschools have cutesy, corny names - and if they have any spelling or grammatical errors in the name, I think they should be immediately shut down or at least severely fined by state authorities. I mean really, you're supposed to be a "learning" center, and yet you make flagrant misuse of apostrophes and the letters K and Z at every turn just because you stupidly think it looks cute? I HATE that!

I drive by one of these joints everyday - A Kidz Haven - and I can't decide if the name or the nasty taco wagon permanently parked out front offends me more. Poor kidz. But it got me thinking, and so, a quick perusal of the Yellow Pages bore these results:

The Cutesy:

All Aboard Daycare
Baby Land Daycare
Beautiful Babies and Toddlers Learning Center
Candy Cane Nursery School
Gingerbread House Nursery and Kindergarten
Jelly Bean Haven
Ruby's Precious Gems
School of Blooming Flowers
Sunshine's Fun Time
Three Bears Child Care Center

The Krazee:

Just Bee Kid's Inc.
Just Bee Kidz Two (yep - two different locations, two different whack spellings)
Kiddie Korner Child Care Center
Kid's Kottage
Kid'z Kountry (!!!)
Kidz & Kompany Playschool and Daycare
Kountry Pumpkin Daycare

The Littles:

Lil Angels Daycare
Lil' Darlings Daycare
Lil Super Quail Center ( I checked this twice - it is a daycare)
Little Bunnies Learning Center
Little Dudes Learning Center
Little Folks Nursery
Little Lamb Child Care Center
Little Munchkins Learning Center
Little Pee Wee's Child Care and Learning Center
Little Rascals Learning Center

The Creepy:

Baby Love Child Care
Edward's World
God's Little Miracles
Heavenly Bundles Daycare
House of Little Angels
Lil Anointed Angels
Margaret's Touch of Care
Tender Mercies Learning Center
Tiny Feet Daycare
Visiting Angels

And my personal favorite - no joke - Loose Screws Child Care. Say that again after saying, "And where does your child go to daycare?"

My Inner (and Outer) Chelsea

When Clinton was first elected president, I always felt so bad for Chelsea and the way she was treated by the media. Of all times for your dad to be the leader of the free friggin' world, you're 12 or 13 and in the ugliest, most awkward period of your life. She (and Bill and Hil) seemed to handle it well, but I often wondered what if that had happened to me? Now, if it was when I was 12 or 13, I might have been okay, because I was a way late bloomer, and I still looked fairly cute. But come 14, freshman year in high school, THAT, my friend, was my Chelsea moment. Exhibit A (as if you need more than one):

Hi. Yeah, I know. Sorry for the poor quality, but you get the idea. There are several unfortunate things going on here:

• The Bangs. The Picture was taken about 6 months after my first ever trip to the beauty shop. I always had long, all one length hair, and my mom or my aunt cut it for me. I never wanted bangs, wings, or perms and was happy with my stick-straight Cher hair. But no. My mom HAD to convince me that my hair would look "cute" with "wispy" bangs and that she knew a "great" stylist who could cut it for me. After much cajoling, we went the Friday before Spring Break when I was in 8th grade, and in a matter of seconds, the great stylist grabbed about half of my hair, pulled it all to the front, and CHOP. I immediately started crying, and, as some sort of a twisted souvenir, the great stylist gave me the hunk of hair, which was thick enough to wrap my big ball ponytail holder around, and tried to "style" what was left of my hair as I sunk lower and lower in the chair. When she was through, I walked out without saying a word, leaving my mom to pay for this nightmare. As soon as I got home, I grabbed a barrett (actually 2 or 3) and pulled all of The Bangs back and sulked for the rest of the week. Flash forward to The Picture, taken a couple of weeks before I started 9th grade, and I STILL had this much to grow out.

• The Perm. In an effort to make lemonade out of the lemons on my forehead that were so thick neither sun nor water could penetrate them, and I had major breakouts up there for the first time ever, my aunt offered to give me a perm. At home. To take the edge off The Bangs. She used those metal rod rollers, and it stunk to high heaven. I was hoping the chemicals would just burn The Bangs right off, but better judgment prevailed, and she didn't perm them at all. THANK GOD. The good news/bad news was that while, yes, The Perm briefly made me forget about The Bangs, it turned out more like a Ted-Nugent-on-a-Really-Bad-Day body wave frizz. My aunt told me it didn't "take" because I went swimming the day after. I French-braided my hair everyday for the rest of the summer.

• The Braces. I only had braces on the top four or six teeth, and I only had them for about 9 months, but, of course, I had them in The Picture to complete the Trifecta from Hell. Add to that, I had never worn makeup up to this point and had yet to develop anything, anywhere, so I looked like a walking 2x4.

Now lest you feel too sorry for me, I have to say that, despite my pitiful appearance, I was a very happy kid, with lots of friends, and I had a great time at school that year. I just went about my merry dorky way and secretly prayed for my Chelsea moment to end. And starting somewhere around the spring semester, it did start to end. I started wearing makeup, I got The Braces off, The Perm fizzled out, and The GD Bangs finally all grew out. I grew THREE inches over the summer, and I started my sophomore year as a whole new me.

But here's the thing. You know how your yearbook comes out around Homecoming the year AFTER the one it covers? So they can include graduation and summer fun and all that shit? You see my problem. My sophomore year, I had several classes with juniors and seniors, many of whom didn't know who I was the year before, so when that damn yearbook came out, and everybody was passing them around for people to sign, I can't tell you how many looks of utter shock I got when people saw The Picture. I had more than one stupid football player say to me, "What happened to you?" or "Is that really you?" or "That's NOT really you." Thanks?

The Picture was a thorn in my side for a long time, mostly because my mom is one of those who puts every school picture up on the icebox, in order, so my beady eyes stared me down every morning until I left for college. I used to take it down and hide it and move the later pictures up to fill in the space, and damn if my mom didn't find it every time. Now, I can look at it and laugh my ass off, as I hope you are.

My thanks to Karla May for forcing my hand on this post. I have been working on it for a while, and after viewing her awesome hair journey, I had to humiliate myself, too.

Freebird! Part III

The final installment, plus a bonus category ...

3 most disappointing live shows you ever saw

1. REM - Southpark Meadows - Austin, Texas

The usual magic did not translate across the wide open spaces.

2. The Butthole Surfers - Austin Music Hall - Austin, Texas

Too loud. Too stupid (even by BHS standards). I left when Gibby pulled out the friggin' bullhorn.

3. Depeche Mode - Erwin Center - Austin, Texas

It was 1988. I think OMD opened. It was horrible. I was an idiot.

3 bands that you wish you’d seen live

1. The King - I loves me some E. Young, old, skinny, fat, Louisiana Hayride, or Vegas. Doesn't matter. I used to have TCB4EAP printed on my checks like it was my license number.

2. Led Zeppelin - I saw Robert Plant in the early 90s, and the man still had a whole lotta love to give. I can only imagine seeing those golden curls and leather pants back in the day, when hard rock was so new and oh so scary.

3. Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble - Living in Austin lo these many years, I feel like I have seen them live, but, alas, I never did. RIP SRV.

First live show you saw (without parents)

I'm not sure, but being born and raised a stone cold Commodores fan, I believe it was a very adult and very contemporary evening with one Mr. Lionel Richie. I was in 9th grade and ready to party "All Night Long."

Last live show you saw

The Biscuit Brothers at the Austin Children's Museum two weeks ago. Before that, ACL Fest in September where I saw Steve Earle, Robert Earl Keen, the Allman Brothers (7 songs in 1 hour, "Whipping Post" was 14 minutes long), and the reunited-because-they-missed-me-so-much Black Crowes. Damn you, Kate Hudson.

Most surprising live show you ever saw and why

Ray Davies - Empire Theatre - San Antonio, Texas

I like the Kinks, but T-Bone is the real fan, and he won tickets to the show off the radio. The show was just Ray and his guitar, and, ala VH1's "Storytellers," he talked about the process of songwriting and his inspiration behind certain songs. He also read from his autobiography in between songs. I didn't know what to expect, and it was just so cool.

Live show I went to that would probably surprise you

Debbie Gibson - Erwin Center - Austin, Texas

I went on a dare, dressed in a baby doll dress, jean jacket, bobby socks and flats, my spiral perm pulled tight in a scrunchy. My friend and I were the only ones who drove ourselves there, and there was a waiting room downstairs for parents who couldn't stand "that GD racket."

As I reflected on my concert experiences, a special category seemed to be warranted for:

3 live shows where I witnessed public nudity

1. Aerosmith - Hemisfair Arena - San Antonio, Texas

The girl sitting next to me bought a shirt and decided to change into it right there. She wasn't wearing a bra.

2. The Rolling Stones - Texas Motor Speedway(!) - Fort Worth, Texas

The guy four rows in front of us kept pulling down his SWEATPANTS to moon Keith Richards. He finally dropped them to his ankles, spread his buttcheeks, and played percussion on "Sympathy for the Devil."

3. Bob Dylan - Erwin Center - Austin, Texas

The girl sitting smack dab in front of me was wearing assless chaps and a thong. We were sitting in floor seats, so unless I stood up when she did, I had a swaying ass in my face. And she had absolutely no sense of rhythm.

Honorable Mention: Fourth of July Freedom Fest - Zilker Park - Austin, Texas

The woman right in front of us kept flashing her tired old boobies while standing on a cooler. And one of the shirtless skinny guys with her had a jailhouse American flag tattoo on his chest that said, "Burn this, mother fucker."

Freebird! Part II

OK - I've had a Red Bull and a whore's bath in the sink. I'm ready to power on ...

3 best live shows you ever saw (small venue)

1. The Black Crowes - The Unicorn - Houston, Texas

The Unicorn was actually an old grocery store, and the tickets were general admission. It was the Crowes' first headlining tour, and Jellyfish(!) opened the show. Chris Robinson is my forever rock and roll boyfriend, and so I braved the throngs of assholes from Oklahoma and a drunk frat guy who peed on my foot (yes, right on the Unicorn floor) and elbowed my way up to the spot right in front of Chris's microphone. Once they started, I totally rocked out (alone, by the way, since my friend bailed after the peeing incident). At one point, I hip checked this bimbo hard who was trying to bounce her way into my spot, and Johnny Colt pointed right at me, smiled, and gave me the devil horns sign, complete with tongue. Chris and I made eye contact several times, and he smiled when he caught me singing an as-yet-unreleased (at the time) "Thorn in My Pride." I'm sure I could crush him with the weight of my love, but I dig his voice, I dig his moves, and I dig his dirty rock 'n roll.

2. Jerry Lee Lewis - Gruene Hall - Gruene, Texas

The Killer doesn't get out that often, so you gotta jump at any chance to see him. Another general admission affair, and some of the old farts actually thought people would be sitting down during the show. I dare you to try and sit still during "Meatman." Anyway, T-Bone and I staked out a place in front and waited for Jerry Lee's grand entrance. And what an entrance it was. When he came out, to much fanfare of course, he tried to cross in front of his pie-ana, which was facing perpendicular to the front of the stage, like, right up to the edge of the stage. He took two steps and end-oed right off the stage. Which was only made all the more shocking and creepy by the fact that he had so much makeup on - he looked like a corpse when he first walked out. I was close enough to get a hand on him as the crowd pushed him back on stage, and he was hoppin' mad by that point. He yelled something at the Gruene Hall staff, and then at the band, but Kenneth Lovelace, in all his permed glory, and that guitar god James Burton got things back on track, and the show was off. It took a minute for Jerry Lee to get into it, but the show was awesome, and every once in a while, I caught a glimpse of what it must have been like to see him back in the day. I was barely pregnant at the time, and we were pleasantly surprised when he played Peach's namesake song, which we took as a sign that we had chosen the right girl's name, especially since Willie Nelson played it too when we saw him a few weeks later.

3. Cheap Trick - Showcase Event Center - San Antonio, Texas

This was a total spur of the moment thing. When I was home from college one Christmas, a friend called and asked if I wanted to go see Cheap Trick, like, right now. We ran to get tickets at Dillard’s(!) and then headed to the club, which held about 200 people? I don’t know – it was small. I saw Joe King Carasco there several times in high school, so that small. The "stage" was really more of a platform, so we were about eye to eye with the band. It was right before their big comeback with that song "The Flame," and, pardon the pun, they were really tight. The best part was at the end when they were playing "She’s Tight." About four rows back in the crowd, people had pulled up chairs to stand on, and these three girls were like go-go dancing up there. Robin Zander had a mini-spotlight that he would shine on a different girl every time he said "She’s Tight." The last time, the Big Finish to the whole show mind you, he shined it on one of the go-go girls, who at that very moment had discovered that her ring was caught in her very big hair. Her face was all contorted and she just kept screaming, "My hair! Help me, y'all! My fucking ring is stuck in my hair!" I almost peed my pants.

Back with an encore soon.

Freebird! Part I

In response to Karla May's Concert Meme challenge, I raise my lighter and my tank top and say, "WOOOOO!"

3 best live shows you ever saw (large venue)

1. U2 - Joshua Tree - Erwin Center - Austin, Texas

Other than "religious experience," mere words cannot describe the impact of this show. Those that were there can attest to the Gospel according to Bono, who looked every inch like the Rock God whose Rolling Stone cover picture I slept under every night until I was 23. I went with 10 guy friends from high school, and the minute we got to our seats, I started crying. The crowd started doing "The Wave," in the DARK, BEFORE the show even started, and by the time Bono hit the stage, I really thought I was going to have a heartattack. Part of my fragile emotional state could have had something to do with the long journey I took to get to the show in the first place. It was back in the early days of VISA bands (remember those?), and I had been lucky enough to get one. However, in something out of a bad sitcom, the day the tickets went on sale, the person right in front of me in line, the asshole I had heard quote useless U2 trivia for three hours while we waited for the ticket window at HEB to open up, THAT guy, bought the last four tickets. When I got to the window, they actually put up the "Sold Out" sign and closed the window in my face. I immediately went to the store bathroom and threw up, which brought that day's total to 4 (once when I woke up at 5am to get in line after staying out til 3 and twice outside the store while listening to the Super Fan). A friend of a friend came up with two tickets a couple of weeks later (I had put out an APB for any available tickets), and although I paid $50 for a balcony seat, it was so so so worth it. At the end, everyone was singing "40" as the lights came up and kept right on singing as we filed out to the parking lot. Sigh.

2. Pearl Jam - Vs. - Southpark Meadows - Austin, Texas

Hands down the best outdoor show I've ever seen. It was an all day affair that I believe kicked off with the Ramones, but I was just focused on getting up close and personal with Stone Gossard. The minute the show started, I quickly realized: (a) I was actually in the mosh pit; and (b) this was probably not the day to wear my prescription sunglasses. The sunglasses were immediately broken as I was pushed and bounced around the perimeter of the pit (I ain't all the way crazy), and I dug every minute of it. My two friends and I locked arms and held on for dear life (one of them lost her shoes along the way), and we sang every word at the top of our lungs. I was bouncing particularly high during "Elderly Woman ...," and I waved and pointed right at Stoney while singing, "But now here you are, and HERE I AM!" I just know he saw me because he smiled real big right at me. Right before he instructed the crew to turn the hose on us. By the end, I left soaking wet, muddy, and bruised - and high on my love for my famous grunge boyfriend.

3. REM - Green - Erwin Center - Austin, Texas

Although I had been a fan since "Murmur," I had never seen the boys from Athens live, and when a friend came up with an extra ticket at the last minute, I headed to the Drum for a kick ass rock show. Michael Stipe was like a man possessed, complete with the eyeliner and white powder, and the whole place went ape shit bananas. I loved it so much that my friend and I hightailed it to BFE/College Station to see them at G. Rollie White Coliseum the next night. Now that's some dedication - dragging my Burnt Orange ass to Aggieland, AND crashing at my ex-boyfriend's crib no less, just to see them tear the roof off the joint again. Talk about the passion ...

This was so fun but so HARD - especially when you love the rock as much as I do. I have to break this down into several parts to keep my head from exploding. So, consider this the drum solo portion of the show. Feel free to go get a beer, and I'll be back after I've toweled off.

Travelin' Jones

I have been literally knee-deep in organic gardening products the past few days, and unless at least half of the stuff I planted survives, I have several asses to kick at the Natural Gardener.

In the meantime, Peach announced the other night that she was going on a long trip. She packed a dishtowel with her glasses, some plastic horses, and a pen, tied it all to a wooden spoon, and met me in the laundry room with this:

P: (whispering) I'm just pretending. Ask me where I'm going.

LT: Where ya goin' there?

P: Well, I'm leaving on a long trip.

LT: Oh - well, I'll sure miss you. Do you think you'll ever come back?

P: I don't know. Bye. (turning to leave the laundry room)

(Pause)

P: (running at me with eyes full of huge tears) I don't want to go! I don't want to leave you!

(much crying)

LT: It's OK. It's OK. You were just pretending. I know you weren't really leaving.

P: (more crying) I don't know why I'm crying! (shades of things to come in about 7 years!)

LT: It's just that you're such a great actress, you made yourself believe that you were really leaving! You have such a great imagination that you thought it was real! I know you're not really going.

(crying starts to subside)

LT: Why don't you get in the tent and pretend that you're camping and you can tell me all about it.

P: I'll need some paper.

Over the next hour, these notes were periodically slipped out from under the tent:

Dear Mommy and Daddy,
I hope you don't miss me. I am in the jungle. I saw a monkey and a hyena, too!
P.S. I miss you.
P.P.S. I am OK.

Dear Mommy and Daddy,
I will not leave out any detail about Japan. It was great. First I was eating on pillows which were really fluffy!
P.S. I am OK.

Dear Mommy and Daddy,
You want to guess where I am? That's right. California. Good old California. I saw a movie star!
P.S. I went to Hollywood.

Dear Mommy and Daddy,
Do you want to guess again? Well, that's right. Florida! I went to Disneyworld. I rode the Dumbo ride and the Peter Pan ride!
P.S. I saw Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse.

The journey ended, for now, at bedtime, but she tells me her next stop is Africa. I'll keep you posted.

The Party Circuit

Birthday parties, that is. We had one for Peach at her dance studio on Saturday - a whole ballerina-princess-fairy kind of affair. Her birthday is actually in December, but since everyone is usually gone or crazy busy over the holidays, we let her choose a different time to have her party. Last year was a farm party in October, this year was a ballerinapalooza in February. By the way, it's not about getting stuff - she just loves to see her friends and have some cake (just like her mama). Sounds simple, right? That's what I thought. But the concept is apparently very foreign to those chest-deep in the Birthday Party Circuit.

Case in point: although the invitation for Saturday clearly read "no gifts," half of the girls showed up with gifts - big gifts. And the social calendar of one of the girls is apparently so full that she just made a 15 minute appearance to drop off the gift she wasn't supposed to bring as she headed right back out the door and on to the next engagement. I realize it's not the kids' fault - they're not driving themselves to all of these events and they're not buying the gifts. And I'm glad they seem to want to spend time with my daughter. To a point. Part of the deal is that some kids, and more often their parents, can't stand the thought of missing anything so they will break their necks - and the bank - to be at every brithday party they've ever been invited to, only to complain about it later. I've heard TOO many parents say, "Oh - we were so busy this weekend! We had THREE birthday parties on Saturday!" My question to them is always, "WHY?! Why did you have three birthday parties on Saturday? Is your child so intimately familiar with every one of those children that it would really make a difference to either of them if your child wasn't there?" Sorry folks - it doesn't make a lick of difference to either one of them. When you start inviting kids you don't really know and expect everyone to bring gifts (which are never opened at the party anymore - what's up with that?), it takes on a really impersonal and down right greedy vibe that destroys the whole point of the thing - having FUN with your FRIENDS!

For the last three years, Peach has received birthday party invitations just days after the class rosters come out - before school has even started. Last year, I had to cross reference the phone number on the invitation with the school directory to figure out who the party was even for so I could call and give one of my standard excuses - out of town (for weekend parties) or denist appointment (for weekday parties). It turns out it was a party for two girls, neither of whom was in Peach's class that year or the year before, and they had invited ALL of the 4 year old girls in the whole school. Some might say, "How nice of them to include everyone." Yeah - maybe. But I say, "So we're supposed to get TWO presents for kids we don't even know and then I've got to hunt down the damn parents at the party so I can introduce myself and my kid to them and their kids since none of us know who the hell any of us is?!" I'm not anti-birthday party, I just think there's something very wrong with that whole Circuit scene, and I refuse to let Peach get roped into it. So, for our very fun, gift- and pressure-free parties, we only invite those kids we know she plays with, which she is totally cool with, and we only go the parties of the kids we know. And we always give books - the gift of learning, you greedy Circuit bastards.