Goin' Out in a Hail of Bullets

Here's how I spent the last week of 2006:

• Monday, 12/25 - Merry Christmas to all, and to Peach, six pairs of new shoes. Count em, six. That's one of the beauties of being a kid - when you've outgrown one pair of shoes, you've probably outgrown them all. Can you imagine? Add that score to the highly coveted Easy Bake Oven and a host of other goodies, and you've got one happy (now) seven year old. For Olive, it's Little People City over here, y'all. She got the school, the school bus, and the illusive reindeer she was lacking from her Christmas set. We've also added to our ever-growing herd of horses a black stallion and stable and our first Breyer horse, complete with a fully decked-out cowgirl she named "Cowgirl Nanny."
• Tuesday, 12/26 - We headed to the Houston area for Christmas with my mom's family.
• Wednesday, 12/27 - Peach got her ears pierced.
• Thursday, 12/28 - I took Peach and my cousin's two boys to see "Night at the Museum." Not bad.
• Friday, 12/29 - We celebrated the birth of my cousin's new twins and then fought the rain and freakass lightning all the way back home. Four and a half hours, man. My knuckles are still white.
• Saturday, 12/30 - Peach turned seven. She started the day with a tiny chocolate cake in bed and then moved on to a treasure hunt orchestrated by T-Bone. She loves mystery books, so he got her stuck on this series, and ever since, he has been scouring the Internets to complete her collection. Last year, he wrote 56(!) clues for the inaugural hunt, which ended with a huge box full of about 20 of the books. This year, he (thankfully) kept it under 20 clues and added five more books. Peach loved it. We spent the rest of the day playing with all the new Christmas stuff and opening more new birthday stuff. A proper party usually follows in the early spring.
• Sunday, 12/31 - The road goes on forever, and the party never ends. Not in December around here, anyway. TODAY is the 9th anniversary of our gettin' hitched in a precious little church in San Antonio on a crisp New Year's Eve. Right in the middle of the city-wide free-for-all fiesta that the powers that be just so happened to revive that year for the first time in forever. Thanks, guys. It actually all turned out quite fabulous, if my blissful memory serves, but y'all will have to wait until next year for the full story (and it's a good one). Happy Anniversary, T-Bone. You hunka burnin' love, you.

Happy Birthday to Peach

Seven years ago today, Peach made her grand entrance into the world before an audience of four grandparents, one uncle, one aunt, and one honorary aunt, the lovely Karla May. The room was quiet and quite obviously filled with love, and we all cried when that little angel turned from bluish-white to bright pink, right before our eyes. It was one of the greatest moments of my life, and we marked the anniversary thereof by allowing Peach to mutilate her body. Yup, the cherub got her ears pierced.

I got mine done when I was nine, and I remember it well because my mom had hers done, too. She took my 12 year old cousin and me to Best, the old catalog store, and she made the two of us go FIRST because she was such a chicken. They used the gun, and I remember the sound made it seem like it hurt worse than it did. We survived, so my mom thought she could, too, but she jumped on the second one, so they had to do it again - insert Nelson's "HAha" laugh here.

I wanted to do Peach's ears at birth, but cooler heads (T-Bone's) prevailed, and we agreed to wait until she could CHOOSE to have them done herself, blahblahblah. Of course, she started voicing said choice at about three years old, when she discovered dress up and costume jewelry. I had to ride T-Bone a little bit about that, like, "So wise counselor, as to the ear piercing issue, just what is the age of legal consent?" We decided seven sounded about right, and damn if she hasn't been counting down the days for about the last six months.

I explained the whole procedure and the resulting responsibility ad nauseum and told her repeatedly that if she changed her mind at the last minute, that was okay, but if she made it through one ear, she had to get the other one done or else she would look like a pirate. She held fast to her word, so Wednesday, we hit Merle Norman, and, flanked by my mom and my cousin (the whole Circle of Life thing, ya know), she got both ears done at the SAME time. Awesome. Highly recommend this if they have two people working. The traditional gun has changed a lot, so it wasn't loud or staplegun-sounding at all, and they offered an array of tiny CZ studs as an alternative to the usual gold or silver balls. Peach of course went for the pink bling, and her little elfin ears look quite snazzy. She skipped out of there high as a kite, and I had to pause. How can seven years go by so fast? I love you, my girl. Happy Birthday and Happy Happy Life.

Suck on this, Martha

As I've mentioned before, after battling my antiquated artificial tree for the LAST time last year, I decided that this year we would have a real tree AND we would make all the ornaments. So I sold that old bitch on Craig's List and looked forward to a year or two of doing things old school. And then I saw the cover of Family Circle at the grocery store and thought, "That's it! I can totally do that myself." Of course, I wasn't taking into account the fact that we were going to be gone 10 out of the 14 days before and after Thanksgiving, which is when I usually decorate. So ... several late LATE nights later, I finished the damn thing and will curse Family Circle and their crafty ways forever. However, since this is the first time in 5 years I haven't been working furiously up to - and usually on - Christmas for LawNerds, I had more time to fluff and fuss, which is kind of dangerous. And because I worked so hard, and I can't have all of y'all over for cocktails (although I would love to), I will now share the fruits of my labor: "Christmas Exploded Here, 2006."

First, the inspiration:

Upon further inspection, I realized this tree is probably like 3 feet tall, so my 8 foot tree needed a lot more crafty crap on it. A LOT. My thanks to the sons of bitches at Family Circle and their damn trick photography.

Now, the execution:

Props to T-Bone for sacrificing his fingertips while stringing the popcorn. And big ups to mijitas for painting such lovely ornaments while I very nearly caused permanent nerve damage from all the paper cutting I did.

Moving on, this snowy village makes me so happy, I just want to move right in. Of course, this being Austin, I'm sure these little cottages are totally out of my price range and need a lot of work on the inside. P.S. Feel free to genuflect, light a candle, and drop a little something in the offering basket upon entry to our casa.

Next, we have The Santa Posse. Thankfully, our completely uncoordinated, nosy cat has managed to maneuver her fat ass through these guys without taking anybody out, which is where she would go if she did.

In the kitchen, I literally can't see the forest for the trees. Yuk yuk.

Even the light fixtures aren't safe. And that's garland, by the by, not some hairy mold. Don't panic.

So, that's it. That's the tour. Or at least part of it anyway. Anywho, I'm sure we'll all be otherwise occupied these next few days, so we'll have to grab a cup of coffee and catch up after the insanity dies down. Wait, I hate coffee. OK, beers it is. Feliz Navidad, y'all! Peace!

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time

I'm actually starting to de-stress, de-freak, and slow down. Pretty much. Yesterday was a whirlwind, though. After dropping Peach off at school, Olive and I ran some final(?) Santa-related errands, and then we returned to GGMS for the holiday sing-along. This is just the sweetest place, and the caroling was made all the more special by the addition of a guest mom on guitar and vocals. Love her. Plus, it's hilarious to watch Peach because she is a VERY earnest singer - lots of swaying and gestures. And yawning, too.

We left full of the spirit and came home to prepare for the in-laws, who appeared a few hours later weighted down with food and presents. Even though I gave them a SHORT list (2 items) for Peach and Olive and an impassioned plea to not get anything for us. I fear another talking, dancing, farting holiday character is in my future. Shit. I did however find a precious JoJo Christmas card from the lovely Mrs. Squirrel in my mailbox, so that took the sting off a bit. And I finally got my own cards in the pipeline - y'all do celebrate Kwanzaa, right? Good - they should be there by then.

Later, we met my BIL and his family, plus Peach's best friend from school, at Shady Grove for dinner. How much do I love those green chile cheese fries? Damn! The weather was perfect - just crisp enough to feel like winter in Texas, but I wasn't freezing my ass off - and that made the hike after dinner to the Trail of Lights quite pleasant. Peach and company performed their "Let It Snow" tap routine, complete with Rockette kick line, and Olive and her cousin C had a ball dancing/dragging each other all over the place.

We schlepped everybody back to the car and back home to the MOST awesome Whole Foods gingerbread cake (courtesy of Karla May). It's like buttah, y'all. Really. I hit the hay early, sandwiched between two snoring elves, while T-Bone and the elder Bones solved all the world's problems. In a nutshell, it was a great day. Now, if I can only sustain the merry attitude for three more days ...

Oh My Credit Card Bill is Frightful

But I think I'm finished with the shopping and the buying and the scurrying. I think. I have been a crazyass loon the last week, running the streets in between cleaning the house from top to bottom and FINALLY finishing the GD tree. I had an ornament exchange party on Sunday, featuring the lovely Karla May, Bookhart, and Jaye, and I've been to two dance class demonstrations, with one more performance and a school program left to round out the week. The in-laws come Thursday, and the parentals come Sunday. And then begins the eating and the gifting and the lounging. All this to say, I'm already braindead and exhausted, and it ain't even Christmas yet.

So, instead of being creative or whatever, I lifted this fun little exercise from Angry Pregnant Lawyer: My Blogging Year in Review. Here is the first line of my first post of each month, starting with my debut in February.

• OK - I give.
• Yup - 3 cubic yards of turkey shit.
• While playing Apples to Apples this weekend, Peach brought down the house with one of her plays.
• 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.
• Our house was burglarized today.
• Happy Birfday America.
• So, we're back.
• After another weekend away, I'm bloated, bedraggled, and nearly braindead, so this here's all I got for tonight.
• Today marks the third anniversary of Olive's birth, when she came bursting into this world with a dark brown mohawk and the eyes and skin to match.
• While I may not have any sugar skulls or altars to share with you for Dia de los Muertos (but come by my house - believe me, I've got it covered), to honor the late, great EAP, I do have this.
• That's how many pictures I took at Mouse World.

Another One of My Great Ideas ...

Putting up our first live tree as a married couple, and the first one I've put up period in almost 20 years, on a day when I am PMS-ing so hard that every time that GD thing tilts or droops or drops ONE more fucking needle on the floor, I want to set it on fire and be done with it. And I'm a Christmas lover! My house is a friggin' winter wonderland! And now all I want to do is throw the tree and the lights - oooh, the lights - into the nearest woodchipper and spray that shit all over those overly helpful dudes at the tree lot down the street.

I had such good intentions. Really, I did. This was to be the year we would drive to the tree lot, pick out the perfect one, tie it to the roof of the car, and sing carols all the way home. Well, first off, we were supposed to take this merry journey on Sunday, but it rained, so we went yesterday. I thought, we'll get it home, I'll get the lights on, and we'll decorate it tomorrow (today). Nooooo. It took us until past my bedtime, and WAY past my tolerance for wacky AFV-type moments, just to get the GD thing in the stand. Cut to today, and Peach had a performance at school, I had to run errands for a party I'm having this weekend - an ORNAMENT party. You know, the things you hang on a TREE - and then T-Bone left us and hightailed it to the Spurs game in San Antonio. So, after The Shorties' bedtime, the prospect of entering the legendary battle of the lights was not so enticing. Thus, mine enemy sits in its stand, naked and in the dark, as my animosity grows.

Oh, and did I mention that we're making all the ornaments? Fucking brilliant.

Tell Me When the Donkeys Are Gone

Rather than bore you with too many of my 546 pictures from Mouse World, I've chosen shots of the more odd and downright frightening folks and things we encountered on our trip. First up, Jolly Old Saint Nick:

Yow! There are several scary things going on here. A) The guy is clearly loaded. Note the bulbous red nose, dark circles and bags under the eyes, and the wild stare, as if he's about to say, "Who are YOU to drunk I'm say?! Now gimme that GD beard!" B) The guy doesn't even remotely look like Santa Claus. This is especially surprising because Mouse Incorporated is usually so particular about casting. And C) I'd be willing to bet that there's been some inappropriate contact with children in this dude's past.

I was almost too scared to even take this picture. DAMN! These are the bad guys from Pinocchio and a few of the bad boys who went to Pleasureland or whatever with the bad guys to gamble, smoke, and tear shit up. The bad boys found out they were being tricked when they started turning into donkeys and were forced into slave labor. Is this really the kind of magical moment that needs to be recreated and trotted down Main Street USA? I don't think so. Hurry, before they see us!

It is so hard for me to make jokes or innuendos of the blue variety when talking about Mouse World, but really. Come on ... And they just HAD to add the buckets on either side, didn't they.

And finally, the scariest sight of all:

It seems that Regis and Kelly were at Mouse World to tape their Christmas show, and they brought along some "stars." So, yes, that is Michael Bolton. And the scariest thing about this picture is that I almost find him attractive since he lost the mullet. That is, until he opens his mouth. I believe at this moment he was bastardizing "O Holy Night" or something like that.

That's Some Weird, Wacky Stuff *

The lovely Hollow Squirrel tagged me for this meme, wherein I am to divulge six weird things about my weird self and then tag six more weirdos. Well, I am SO weird, I have way more than six weird friends, you know who you are, so feel free to lift this weird meme and spread the weirdness. Or as Karla says, "wierdness." So, may I present La Turista: Keepin' It Weird.

1) I am not a picky eater (have you seen me lately?), but I have a thing about texture, so I don't, nay CAN'T, eat a lot of fruit. Love apple juice, apple sauce, apple fritters. CanNOT eat an apple. Love peach nectar, peach ice cream, peach smoothies. Would rather eat my own finger than eat a peach. And don't even get me started on grapes. It's a skin thing, I think, because I've got that, too. See, I can watch surgeries on television, and the blood and guts and body parts don't phase me. But I want to hurl and run screaming from the room if I get even a glimpse of skin splayed open and covered in that orange goop.

2) I cannot stand big forks. I have to use salad size or smaller. Always. Big forks make me gag or otherwise injure myself, and anyone in my immediate circle knows to set a small fork at my place at the kids' table. At restaurants, I'm mostly SOL, and I have to just deal. But, obviously, this silverware weirdness has had no negative effect on my girlish figure. I seem to be able to shovel it all in just fine, thank you.

3) I have a totally harmless, yet pretty gross, "-oma" of some kind in my belly that doctors have told me is basically a sack of fat. I call it my worm, and it's about the size and density of a Vienna sausage. Nice. I discovered it one day after stuffing myself at my grandmother's house, when, because I'm so funny, I leaned back in my chair and started rubbing my belly and groaning like an old man. I ran my hand over it and thought, "Hmm. That's new. And gross." My mom was ready to take me to the hospital THAT moment, but cooler heads prevailed, and I had it checked out a few weeks later. I never really thought it was "anything," but I was hoping the doctor would tell me that it would go away. Nope. Over 10 years later, it's still there, but thanks to my nice paunch, you can't even see it. However, when I was pregnant, and my skin was stretched so tight, you could see it poking out a little. I had some maternity portraits taken with Peach, and the photographer said, "Look! I think that's the baby's head!" Uh huh, yeah. I think it is.

4) Weird Fact #687 that proves T-Bone and I were meant to be together: an unholy amount of shared celebratory dates. (deep breath) T-Bone and I met on my dad's birthday 11 years ago, and we got engaged on the same day a year later. My mom and T-Bone's dad have the same birthday. My birthday is the same day as T-Bone's brother's anniversary. T-Bone, Olive, and T-Bone's mom, brother, SIL, and niece all have birthdays on the 1st of their birthmonth, with T-Bone and his SIL having the same birthday, and his mom and brother having the same birthday. And, finally, my mom's birthday is the day BEFORE her parents' anniversary, my birthday is the day AFTER my parents' anniversary, and Peach's birthday is the day BEFORE our anniversary. SO, Peach must give birth to her first child, a girl, the day AFTER her anniversary. She simply must.

5) I have lots of OCD-like tendencies like counting things, checking the locks a million times, and blowing in glasses before I drink from them. Yes, you read that right. One of the weirdest ones is the way I read books or magazines. I repeatedly flip back to the beginning to run my hand over each page, to make sure I didn't miss anything. As you can imagine, I don't get a lot of reading done in one sitting, and law school was an absolute nightmare with regular assignments of hundreds of pages a night. No wonder my eyes are completely shot.

6) I am pretty particular about where I "go," you know, "GO," and that caused, ahem, a shitload of problems the time I was convinced that the shut-in freakshow that lived next door to Karla May and me was spying on me through a pinhole in my bathroom mirror. Really! I came home one day, and I swear there was a spot of light coming through from the OTHER side of the mirror, which hung on the wall we shared with the psycho's apartment. After that, every time I had to "go," I kept the lights off. For over two years. And I glared at that dude every time I saw him. My boyfriend at the time, quite the conspiracy theorist himself, offered to break down the door and kick the guy's ass if he found anything. Lo these many years later, I'm still pretty convinced that somewhere on these Internets, there are grainy pictures of me pooping in the dark.

* Mad props to the King of Late Night. RIP JC.

The Happiest Place on Earth

It is. It really is. But it's also a world of laughter, a world of TEARS, a world of hopes, and a world of FEARS. I don't know what it is, but something about Mouse World brings out the best and the absolute worst in people. For every child with eyes filled with wonder spotting the castle for the first time, there are 10 sugared-up heathens screaming that they're hungry or tired or want this piece of princess crap or that hunk of pirate shit. For every endearing family moment, there are 10 moments of near child abuse as parents screech at their kids to Come on! Quit crying! SHUT UP! Yes, I heard a lot of that. My, how very Disney of you.

I don't know if it's the magnitude of the place or the cost or what, but so many people are HELLBENT on having a good time and getting their GD money's worth, so you better get your ass in gear and get with the program or just get the hell out of the way. Seriously. Now, do I plan loose itineraries for each day? Hello - have you met me? Of course I do. But do I charge along and make everyone stick to them, come hell or high water? Of course I don't. When we get tired, we stop. When we want to eat, we eat. When we want to leave, we leave. We were able to do everything we wanted to do and more, without killing ourselves or each other, and we ended up having a great time, despite all the assholes trying to rain on our parade. This is supposed to be FUN, people.

Speaking of people, I ask again, when did everyone in America get so friggin' fat? In Disney fanatic speak, it's called "Pooh size," and you can go to any Mouse World web site, and there'll be a board full of messages about what rides Pooh size folks can fit on and what rooms are the most comfortable and what restaurants offer the most bang for your buck. I'm sorry, y'all, I'm not going for the food, and I'm not going to plan my vacation around it. And even though I'm not, nor have I ever been, the most petite little flower in the garden, the day I need a seatbelt extender to ride Dumbo, please just wire my jaw shut and commit my fat ass. Please. I don't even know how some of these folks can physically make it around the parks, because there is a shitload of walking, and only so many people can clog up the place with scooters. Which reminds me - aren't those scooters meant for ONE person? One ADULT person? That's what I thought. I guess somebody forgot to tell the family that let their 8 yr old tear ass around on Grandma's Rascal while we were waiting for the fireworks one night. Oh, and I guess I should have mentioned that to the two fabulous guys, one with a huge rainbow triangle tattoo on his calf, who were cruising around Animal World, one squeezed in behind the other on the tiny seat. Hmm ... That's just not safe, y'all.

Peach loved meeting the characters again and riding some more daring rides than last time. She also took a trip "around the world" at Epcot and has a passport full of stamps from the all the countries she visited. True to form, Olive would have been happy to ride the carousel the entire time, but after five times in a row, Mama had to reach for the Tums. She also loved "Small World," which, despite the brain-numbing song, is still one of my favorite rides. We saw some excellent shows, incredible holiday decorations, and even some "snow." And due to our mid-morning seating time for breakfast with Cinderella, by the end of our meal, we had the castle to ourselves, and those two, both in full Belle regalia, had the run of the place for half an hour. It was hilarious. Peach was about to jump out of her skin, and she just kept saying, "This is SO magical!" It was, indeed.

546

That's how many pictures I took at Mouse World. In five days. I am definitely outta my damn mind.

We got back last night about 7, and I spent the better part of the day doing laundry and trying to resuscitate my flower beds. Damn freaky weather. And, of all things, tonight was the rescheduled Dixie Chicks show T-Bone got me tickets for for my birthday. Damn country radio screwing up the tour. I took Peach, and that sweet baby was a trooper, considering it was her first concert, AND it came on the heels of 5 days of walking her little peaches off. Our seats were incredible, and the show was awesome, but we cut out a little early because she was thisclose to nodding off, and I knew I couldn't carry all 55"+ of that tall drink of water to the parking garage.

Tomorrow I have to be in tiptop form for a field trip, and after that, I may actually start to come up for air. So stay with me, dear friends. I need someone to hold me up.

Turkey and Mice

Yes, we survived Thanksgiving in San Antonio and got back home Sunday night. NOW I'm furiously repacking and rebattening down the hatches because we're leaving tomorrow for Florida. I must be outta my damn mind.

I don't "do" that whole must-get-out-of-town-every-friggin'-weekend thing, so I've been a bit frantic. I like my house and my stuff and my big fat ass parked on my couch for three days. But it seems I have a date this weekend with a mouse and a couple of princesses, and after much planning, I think I'm ready. Lots to tell when we get back, I'm sure, but until then, enjoy this:

Happy Thanksgivin'

From the whole fam damily. I knew I should have worn the black feather wrap - the white one always makes me look so washed out.

At school yesterday, Peach's class had a "feast," which they prepared themselves, and they each told the rest of the class what they were thankful for. Peach's note said:

I am thankful for my Health & house & my fish (in hevan) & Dotty my moms cat & Pogo my dads dog who is Def & my sister & my mom & my dad & God & my cat JoJo & Love!

She also made a few cards. First, the traditional:

She did all of these on really thin paper with markers, so it's hard to read, but the turkey says, "Cool Daddyo," and the inside says, "Have a super cool Thanksgiving! Peace!"

Next, the outta-nowhere card. The front:

The back:

I have no idea why they are so angry, but notice the red gloves on both of them. And the inside says, "Hope you like boxing! Go! Happy Thanksgiving!"

Finally, the message card. It says, "Peace on Earth" on the front, and the inside says:

I'm out til Sunday, y'all, so have a great holiday! Peace!

Not that there's anything wrong with that

Overheard while watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving tonight:

O: Is that a boy or a girl?

P: It's a girl. (pause) Right, Mommy?

Which is only made more confusing by the fact that Marcie calls her, "Sir." And both of them are voiced by men. Good grief, indeed.

Can You Hear That Buzzing?

We have been some busy little abejas over here at Casa de Bone this weekend. T-Bone completely emptied the garage and then cleaned and painted the floor. And then the walls where he got epoxy on them. With the exception of the tree, I put out all of my Christmas decorations - and there are a shitload, y'all - and I planted some rose bushes in the backyard. We also squeezed in Peach's dance performance Saturday, her basketball game Sunday, and a visit from my parents, including a trip to Threadgill's to get our veggies on last night. My mom and I did a little Christmas shopping yesterday and hit Hobby Lobby, Garden Ridge, and Target today. And yeah, I forgot AGAIN that Hobby Lobby is closed on Sundays for family and worship or whatever so there goes 30 minutes of my life I'd like back, please. Especially since I haven't stopped moving since 7 am yesterday.

But it hasn't been all "work" and no play for this mama. No way. I had a BLAST Friday night with a gaggle of blogging gals, most of whom I've linked to over there on the right, as we celebrated the return of Karla and rocked out to Bookhart's hubby's band. Badger and Karla have already posted about the events of that fateful night in way more interesting and colorful detail than I ever could, and I think Malcontent Mama has some photos documenting it all. Karla May was my date for the evening, so I got to talk to the Geej on the phone - she loves me - and I was reminded of the MANY nights KM and I spent tossing back cold brews and supporting various friends' and boyfriends' bands back in our rock and roll days. Oy. Going to random keg parties thrown by slacker 30-somethings got pretty old after a while, but we always had a great time, and we always looked FABULOUS. I'm glad I got to hang with her and the rest of my blogging pals - old and new! - and I think the sting has worn off enough by now that I can say I'm ready to do it all over again SOON.

The Doctor is In

Dr. Olive's 12-step program for comforting a crying sister who was reprimanded for wrestling with her glasses on:

1. Bring her a stuffed animal
2. Bring her her blankie
3. Bring her another stuffed animal
4. Bring her a hug and a kiss
5. Climb up on the bed with her and pat her
6. Tell her it's okay and that you'll stay with her to keep her company
7. Pat her repeatedly
8. Whisper to her, "Just wisten to your heart, and you can do it," while patting her on the chest
9. Assure her that it's okay and that you really will stay with her to keep her company
10. Leave to fetch the doctor kit and return with promises to find the "pwobwem" and to make her feel better
11. Perform thorough examination while singing "Whistle While You Work"
12. Call for a "gwoup hug"

The Fruit of My Loins

Pardon me while I gush. Again. I went to Peach's first parent/teacher conference at the Groovy Granola Montessori School, and the word is good, y'all. Great, even. Actually, it's spectacular. Like, if I was wearing a waistcoat, my buttons would have burst about now. She is so amazing.

Which I already knew, of course. I've always heard nothing but praise in all of our previous conferences, but I was looking extra forward to this one because of the whole new school/new method of teaching and learning thing. The first thing the lead guide said was she had never had a first year student take to her lessons so eagerly and easily AND that she (the guide) knew very quickly that she was going to have to step up HER game to keep up with Miss Thing. Besides doing so well academically, she said she is a leader in the class! Um, what? I mean, she enjoys being around other kids and being a part of the group, but she's never going to bust in and try and be the center of attention. And she's not. Apparently, she is leading by quiet example, in the way she conducts and carries herself and in the way she goes after her work. The guide said she is so well-rounded and CONFIDENT and that the other kids take great interest in whatever she's doing. I almost cried.

I am so thankful that she is so happy, and I am really excited about what all of this means for her. But please know that T-Bone and I had nothing to do with any of it. This kid was born ready to learn, with an incredibly long attention span and a wonderfully curious nature. We just want to nurture her love of learning as long as we can, and hopefully, she'll have the tools and the confidence to go after whatever dreams she has for the future. I, for one, am thrilled to be a witness.

And as for my sweet, also genius, Olive, she is fascinated with boobs. My boobs, my mom's boobs, her own non-existent boobs. Try as I might to correct her, she calls them "poofy things," which she says as she gently pats and pokes them. She told me the other day that when she grows up and becomes a mommy, she'll have poofy things to make milk for her babies because that's what mammals do and cows are mammals and their poofy things are pink and they are on their tummies and that's where the baby cows drink the milk because they are mammals and that's what mammals do. Whew ...

She's also fascinated with hair, and she was worried the other day that I didn't have hair on my arms and chest because "Daddy has humongous hair on his arms and legs." And at the risk of providing TMI, I will say that when she and I were preparing to take a bath together recently, she pointed at a certain area of my body and asked, "Mommy, is that goat hair?" I swear that is not a comment on my personal hygiene. Just a very creative assessment.

Random Acts of Googling

Like most bloggers I know, I've been keeping a list of the most bizarre Google searches that have led people to my blog, and it is truly just that - bizarre. And surprising. Take a gander at my favorites:

10. Scaggy - Says who?
9. Makes me shake my ass - What doesn't these days. Total independent motion.
8. Poon with a spoon - What's wrong with you people?
7. Slept with Robin Zander - If I did, I'd take it to the grave.
6. Mom gave me a perm - Actually, it was my aunt. And it was awful.
5. Hooker shoes, Austin, Texas - Part of my Vegas wardrobe.
4. Watermelon balls soaked in Everclear - 1984 called ... Wooo!
3. Rod and Todd Flanders singing I Got the Joy - Read this to see how VBS almost cost me my vision. Almost.
2. High on a hill was a lonely goatherd - The rising star thanks to Gwen Stefani.
1. Thunder only happens when it’s raining - Really, I get this at LEAST once a day. What the hell?

Update 11/13: This just in - Buried up to her boobs.

Friday Night Lights

So my dad is headed to the Big Game tonight. You know, Devine vs. Hondo. He graduated Class of '59 from DHS, number 3 in a class of 35, and, as per usual, he's taking one of his old coaches with him. They've sold 8,000+ tickets, which is more than the populations of both towns combined, and both teams are 9-0. Should be a real barnburner. One for the record books. A classic.

And I totally agree with Badger and Angry Pregnant Lawyer that you should be watching this show.

Go Warhorses!

Dodging a bullet, as it were

Overheard from the backseat while I was driving Peach and four other girls to a field trip today:

Friend of Peach: I see the Capitol!
Peach: I see it, too!
FOP: Know what? I was conceived at the Capitol. That's where I was conceived.
P: What do you mean, conceived?
FOP: You know, conCEIVED. My dad worked at the Capitol and my mom was pregnant and then the people heard all this screaming and they came running downstairs and that's where I was conceived. The Capitol.
P: Oh.

LT (silently): Oh shit. Here it comes.

P: Mommy? Where was I conceived?
LT: I think FOP means her mom went into labor at the Capitol. She means that's when it was time for her mom to give birth. I went into labor while I was at work and then I drove to the hospital and you were born. (Pause)
P: So what's conceived? What does that mean? (Damn.)
FOP: Yeah, what's conceived? (So not my job, kid.)

(Silence - just the Cheetah Girls II soundtrack. Don't ask.)

LT: Well, it means ... Conceived means ... Well, it's just a completely different thing. FOP was talking about when her mom went into labor, and OH LOOK! Here we are! Yay field trip!

I am such a wuss.

Why The Hell Not?

Olive and I voted today. At the holy roller church down the street with the sign out front that says, "A virtuous woman is a crown for her husband."

Should I be worried?

Peach has been singing this new little diddy for the past two days:

I love to shake my booty in my underpants
I love to shake my booty in my underpants
I love to shake my booty ...

You get the idea.

Dear Joan Jetta, I Hardly Knew Ye

A blogging bud has been test driving VW Jettas, and it has made me all nostalgic for my first car. My first two cars, actually. I got a brand-spankin'-new white Jetta, which I named Joan, in May of my junior year in high school. I had only recently passed my driver's test after nearly a year of trying (long story), and I just loved that car. I pampered her with regular washings, frequent oil changes, and careful, defensive driving, which came in handy the night I was driving home to my freshman dorm and that BITCH pulled right in front of me and slammed on her brakes in a no-turn lane just so she could get her eat on at Jack-in-the-Crack. Of course, I got the ticket because I hit her from behind, but all the drunk a-holes who witnessed the collision as they spilled out of Hole in the Wall were totally on my side.

After Ms. Joan got all fixed up, we were cool for about two years. And then one day, I was driving down The Drag, minding my own GD beeswax, when I saw this hippy-poser chick come beebopping out of Hasting's on the other side of the street and pull right out into oncoming traffic just as I was passing her, going the other way. The first person in said oncoming traffic was an Asian dude on a motorcycle, whom she totally did not see because she didn't even look, and at the moment of impact, I was right in the line of fire. I swear it all happened in slow motion, and it was like I knew what was going to happen because I totally saw it coming. What I didn't count on was my sunroof being open and me seeing the Asian dude FLYING over my car, sans helmet and motorcycle. I just knew he was going to land in my passenger's seat, so I braced for the impact, and when the dust settled, and I opened my eyes, he was STANDING right behind my car, hands on his hips, surveying the damage to his bike. And, God bless him, he was still wearing his backpack.

I have no idea how the hell he didn't end up smeared all over the street, but after he did whatever aerial Ninja move that probably saved his life, I think he went into shock because he just started hauling ASS down The Drag. There were a lot of people around because it was right in the middle of the day, right between classes, so some dudes tackled him and pulled him over to the sidewalk to try and calm him down. In the meantime, Groovy Girl had driven off, and I was out of my car, muttering, "I am NOT paying for this!" There was a huge dent in the driver's side door, and the front tire was flat, but other than that, Joan fared pretty well. Or so I thought. I just slammed the door and stomped over to the sidewalk to call the friends I was supposed to be meeting in 10 minutes. A bunch of people came up and said they would be witnesses for me because it was all Groovy Girl's fault and she took off and that Asian dude is freaking out and somebody already called the cops and yadda yadda yadda. So I just sat on the curb, mad as HELL, and waited for the cops to show up. And they did. Two of them. On horseback.

By that point, a photographer from The Daily Texan was there taking pictures, some emergency personnel were tending to the Asian dude, and every five seconds, some dumbass would come up to me and ask what happened. One of the cops started to take my statement, while the other one, and his horse, were out in the middle of the street, trying to pick up the various pieces the motorcycle ended up in, during which exercise, the horse proceeded to crap all over the street. HUGE. Shortly thereafter, Groovy Girl shows back up, her mascara running out from under her faux John Lennon sunglasses, and the crowd quickly unloaded on her. She tried to apologize to me, but I was done with the whole thing, so I politely told her, "This is all your fault, and I'm not fucking paying for it." Then I sat down on the curb and started crying. Big baby.

My friends got there a few minutes later and formed a human shield around me to keep the dumbass question-askers at bay while the cops surveyed the damage to Joan. While she didn't look too bad, I told them I still wanted her towed somewhere to get checked out and to get a new tire, which was a good thing since it turned out that the front axle was bent like an "L," and I would have been stuck driving around in circles like a friggin' circus clown. So yeah, she was not quite four years old, had less than 40K miles on her, and she was totaled. Gone too soon. After that, I got a new red Jetta, which I named Ruby, but the love was never quite the same between us. I really think Joan cast some kind of voodoo spell on her, because she had quite a few "issues," and I nearly ran her into the ground while trying to learn to drive a stick.

The literal punchline to the whole affair came just as I was finally cleared to leave the scene. I told my friends that if one more person asked me what happened, I was going to lose my shit. So here comes your boyfriend, with a cast on his arm, natch, justa shuckin' and jivin' down the street. And I knew, just KNEW, he was going to be the one. As he got closer, he kept looking back and forth between me, my car, the motorcycle, the horse, the Asian dude, and Groovy girl, clearly trying to put it all together. Finally, he stopped right in front of me, took one last look around, and said, "Where'd the horseshit come from?"

Have I mentioned how much I love this GD town?

In Honor of The King

While I may not have any sugar skulls or altars to share with you for Dia de los Muertos (but come by my house - believe me, I've got it covered), to honor the late, great EAP, I do have this:

This scary-as-shit skeleton mask was one of three I purchased for a quick trip to Graceland 11(!)years ago with the lovely Karla May and our friend, Erwina. It was a fairly spur-of-the-moment jaunt, just two days after I met my dear, dear T-Bone (Happy Birthday, you big hunka burning love, you), and was meant to mark the end of my first semester of law school. Trust me, I needed to unwind.

Here we are at a truckstop in Hope, Arkansas on the way:

Here we are admiring all The King's horses at Graceland:

And here's yours truly demonstrating a little move I like to call "The Strut":

And yes, I did rock the overalls and grey shirt pretty much the whole weekend. Cause that's how I TCB. RIP King. XOXO.

What a difference a week makes

Last week at this time, I was literally one bony arm's length from Mick Jagger, and this week, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry, grocery bags, and cleaning products. My, how the mighty rock and roll queen has morphed back into suburban housefrau.

Following my triumphant return from Vegas last Sunday, T-Bone and I immediately made the trek to Zilker Park to see The Rolling Stones and company. And, boy oh boy, did those old coots deliver. Again. This was my fifth time to see them, and it was not only the best Stones show I've ever seen, but the second or third best show I've ever seen ever EVER. And I've seen a shitload of rock shows, y'all. The best part was when they came out to an auxiliary stage in the middle of the crowd for a few songs - the stage T-Bone and I had strategically camped out right friggin' next to. In fact, we were dangerously close to becoming one with the fence surrounding the stage. But I'm a big girl. I hung in there. And it was so SO worth it. They sang four songs, and if I had gotten up on my tippytoes, I could have grabbed any one of those tiny Brits and put him in my pocket. I actually got a little choked up for a minute there because the joke is always, "We've got to see them again because you never know how much longer Keef will be around." And this time, he really almost WASN'T around, courtesy of that freaky head injury. They are still SO awesome, yo, and to see every wrinkle so up close and personal was way cool. I told T-Bone that we may have to quit going to concerts because we've had such great seats the last few we've been to, we're getting totally spoiled. Seriously. Unless Chris Robinson comes to my home, to my bedroom, to play the next time he's in town, I really don't think anything else could top the last time I saw him. So too with the Stones now. I know. It's only rock and roll. But (say it with me now) I like it, like it. Yes, I do.

Coming back to reality, which I actually love even more than my rock and roll fantasy life (aww), let's look at what I did this weekend: Peach performed with her dance class at one school carnival, played in her first basketball game for this season, went to her own school carnival, and went to the obligatory birthday party. There were many loads of laundry and trips to the grocery store, Target, and the mall. Basically, lots of driving. After tomorrow's basketball practice, I will have been to WAYA three times in the last three days. I think I should get a free membership for that. Or at least a friggin' parking place.

Sin City Part II

Why, yes - that is a picture of the all-Little People tribute band, Tiny Kiss. But no, I didn't get the pleasure of seeing them live in Las Vegas because M and T weren't quite up to it. Especially after I dragged them to the free Big Elvis show. The guy is legendary, and he is very BIG, indeed. It was packed, and sort of sad, so we left after only two songs, which he performed while sitting in a very homemade-wood shop project-looking "throne." The best part was when two other BIG, as in tall, Elvises (Elvi?) came in to wish Big Elvis good luck before the show. They were GIANT Elvi, y'all. One was dressed in the standard issue Eagle jumpsuit, and the other was in the full-on black kar-a-TAY outfit with the tiger on the back. Sweet. Jumpsuit pulled a wad of cash out of his zip-up ankleboot to pay for their drinks because his fly outfit apparently did not have pockets. Or much support for his nether-regions. Yikes.

M was game for the live Price is Right show at Bally's, so she and I headed over there Saturday afternoon with high hopes of getting to come on down. Alas, we didn't get called, but the show was hilarious, mostly because it was hosted by this guy, who was CLEARLY loaded and openly hostile to the contestants and the announcer. He was slurring the whole time and probably questioning his many career missteps. I did get my picture made afterwards with him and the rest of the cast, but, alas, because I took a throw-down, throwaway camera instead of my new kickass camera, all of my pictures are completely grainy and nearly indecipherable. Sorry, folks. M and I did, however, manage to score three of these:

We got the last ones! Whew!

For you foodies out there, we ate dinner Friday night at Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill, and, can I just say, YUM. That was by far the priciest meal we had, but da-yum, it was delish. And although we were fat and happy after that, we managed to stay awake, change clothes, even, and hit Forty Deuce for a girly show. Yes, we are just that trendy. I have an affinity for girly things, such as this ashtray, which is just like one my granddaddy had next to the bed to keep his change and nugget ring in:

So I loved this club. It was really small and WAY crowded, so we didn't stay all that long. Just long enough to marvel at the girls' beautiful, silicone-free dancer bods and adorable burlesque costumes and moves. If I looked like that, well, I just might be twirling my own tassels right about now ...

All in all, we had an awesome trip. Vegas is such a weirdass place, and I'm so glad I got to take my own weird ass there with two of my favorite girls. Thanks, y'all, and I can't wait til next year. Helio Vasquez lives!

The Bitch is Back

And I now realize how old I am. Geezaloo, y'all - I'm tired. After a madcap long weekend in Vegas, followed by a rollicking good time at quite possibly the second or third best concert I've ever seen, I have been reduced to a freakin' zombie. There is so much to tell, and I am so not firing on all cylinders at the moment. And my hands and lips are all nice and chapped from the dry desert air. Oy. But I will soldier on for you, dear readers, just for you. There are at least two of you, right?

I haven't been to Las Vegas in 10 years, and back then, they were trying to bill it as a great family vacation spot. Rrrrright. Mom watches the kids at the pool while Dad gets tanked and loses the family nestegg at the craps tables. Now, it's all about "What happens in Vegas ..." - the most bastardized slogan since "Got milk?" The Strip looks completely different from what I remember, and while the hotels are trying to outsleek and outluxury each other, the streets are literally littered (say that three times) with "escort service" calling cards that are two or three strategically placed stars away from straight-up hardcore porn. These cards are nasty, and they are EVERYWHERE. My cohorts, M and T, picked up a few the morning before I got there and told me they had met some friends who wanted to party with us. Eww. But funny.

The Bellagio absolutely rocked. Our suite was way sweet, the buffet was painfully good, and I found my new game after getting lucky a few times at the casino. Usually I just play slots and peoplegawk, but I tried some roulette and was totally sucked in. M and I also spent the better part of Friday afternoon in the posh sports book, where I actually won three out of the five horse races I bet on, my picks being based purely on the horses' names. I mean, how can you NOT bet on Mr. Classy Action?

We spent a lot of time just walking from hotel to hotel, and damn, I am so old. I'm sore, y'all. From walking and eating too much. How pitiful is that? We gambled here and there and picked up lots of free drinks, but the main event of the weekend was the Elton John show at Caesar's Palace. I have to say, for a gay guy, he sure loves him some boobs. The show was designed and directed by David LaChapelle, and it's got his fingerprints all over it - cool, artsy videos and pictures, lots of graphics, lots of color, and lots of boobs. Including a GIANT pair of tatas that inflated and hung over the audience during "The Bitch is Back," while five videos of Pam Anderson pole dancing in a thong and pasties played over the stage. Then there was the huge inflatable banana with inflatable cherries on either side, the huge inflatable lipstick, and the huge inflatable roses. Think he was trying to tell us something? There was also the softcore film full of clips of various combinations of people dancing and getting it on to "Philadelphia Freedom," and the Justin Timberlake-as-a-young-Elton film that played during "Rocket Man." That was cool. And PeeWee Herman was in it.

My favorite piece had to be the film that played during "Someone Saved My Life Tonight." I'm all for artsy, but can someone please explain this to me: We open with an Elton look-alike putting his head on a pillow in his oven, and then a shirtless fairy boy (as in, wearing wings) (and sequin pants) separates from Elton's body and flies around the room. Cut to the fairy boy in an all red room with all white furniture and a woman with so much silicone in her, she was in danger of splitting in two. The woman is wearing pasties, a thong, hooker shoes, and a bridal veil, and the fairy boy dances around her. Cut to a cabin in the snow, like a snow globe, and the fairy boy is sitting and laughing with a giant purple bear, who is feeding the fairy boy honey with a giant wooden spoon. Then they go ice skating outside, and the bear swings around a smaller silver spoon, laughing all the way. Cut to random images of the fairy boy dancing, the plastic lady, the ice skating bear, etc., until the pace gets so frantic, and the fairy boy gets so out of control, the plastic lady goes apeshit and starts tearing up the red room and destroying a wedding cake. In the pasties, thong, and hooker shoes. Finally - now stay with me here - the fairy boy is dancing in a gray room, and shots of the Elton-in-the-oven, the ice skating bear, and other random images are interspersed with shots of the plastic lady strapped to an electric chair. And her crotch is on fire.

I am truly spent just relaying that last bit to you, so I'll leave you to ponder those images for now. Stay tuned ...

Luck be a Lady. For once. Seriously.

I'm leaving for Vegas on Thursday, and because my partners in crime, M and T, are leaving on Wednesday, they have demanded I post a pre-trip report today. See, they don't understand the life of the tortured blogger, the bouts of writer's block and lack of inspiration. They don't get that genius cannot be forced and that fabulous posts need time to germinate and develop. They're only in it for the shout-out, which they readily admit, so here it is: Helio Vasquez rides again, bitches! First round's on me!

Have I mentioned M got us a sweetass suite at The Bellagio? Word, y'all. And I got us tickets to see Sir Elton at Ceasar's. We're trying to get a cabana at the pool one day, and the rest of the time will be spent eating, shopping, and staring. Oh, and trying to decide which skinny jeans, sparkle top, and giant sunglasses to wear to Light, Pure, or Tao, because we'll totally be getting into all those shitholes. Fo rizzle. Gawd, I hope K-Fed is there. And Paris, too. They both could use good ass-kickings, just on principle. Here's hoping ...

Tis the season

You Are

A Drunk Pumpkin Face You would make a good pumpkin martini.

What's Your Pumpkin Face?

Death by Window

We live right on the edge of the woods, so we have the requisite flora and fauna growing and wandering about, up close and personal like. The deer, all 8 of them, greet us nearly every morning at the kitchen window, thanking us for the corn. We go to bed each night to the croakings of about 1,000 frogs. And we look out on a solid wall of trees behind and to one side of us. Ahhhhh.

CRASH!

Oh, shit! What was that?

Another one bites the dust. It seems as though our kitchen window is a magnet for birds with suicidal tendencies, so we've had our share of death out here in the wild kingdom. Even with Peach's artwork taped to the window as a deterrent, there is no stopping them. This poor bastard left quite an impression, literally - above is an imprint on the window of what I hope was his head and two wings, although that dark spot in the middle there makes me wonder if he was flying bassackwards, in which case, what a friggin' idiot. We didn't actually recover a body. He either limped back into the woods to die or was carried off by somebody higher up the food chain.

It's a damn shame. But doesn't my bitchin' new camera take kick ass pictures?!

Cien

So this is it, y'all. My 100th post. Wow. Over the past eight months, I have made some new friends, learned new things about old friends, and enjoyed reading some incredible writing. I was hesitant to do this at first, but now, I'm so glad I did.

SO, if you've been reading along, and you haven't commented in a while, or ever, and you're not going to say something ugly that I will immediately delete, because I will, today would be the perfect day to gimme a shout out. No pressure ...

Progress Report

I started this post a couple of weeks ago, but after my GD camera crapped out on me for good, I had no pictures to illustrate my hard work. So, really, what was the point of telling you about all of my hard work without showing you pictures of all my hard work so you could then tell me how hard I worked and how lovely it looks? BUT after doing some research and finding out that there are several class action suits pending against Kodak regarding this very same GD camera, and that said GD camera is beyond fixable, we bit the bullet and got a new camera - a bigger, better, badder mutha that nearly slept on my pillow last night I love it so much. So, from now on, expect to see great feats of photographic genius! Or just regular old snapshots, but with two more MP. Whatever.

All this to say, when last we left my backyard, some five months ago, it looked something like this. Due to spots of "cooler" weather here and there lately, I've once again been up to my elbows in Dillo Dirt and other varieties of shit. Behold, the fruits of my labor:

A few things have already come and gone, and any holes you see are from my ripping out or cutting back a few other things that were just about to take over the place. I just stuck that Esperanza (yellow bells) in there (even though it will soon die a slow death, IF we ever have a real winter), because I love it, and I couldn't stare at that-bigga-hole for all of the next six months. What prompted my mania in particular was the carpet of weeds that had grown under The Bench. With some eager child laborers helping me, we pulled that shit out, tossed out some pea pebbles, and voila. Next up - antique roses for the trellis in November.

In other outdoorsy news, the GGMS fall family campout was a great success. I could hardly keep Peach and Olive out of the new big ass tent, which was one of about 50 set up for the weekend - our own little GGMS tent city. We headed out to the park at halftime of the Big Game and got there just in time to start setting up for the potluck dinner, the offerings for which were almost exclusively vegetarian, which was nice. I spaced and forgot to bring the freeze-dried ice cream sandwiches, but we did have the makings for s'mores, so that was a big hit. At sundown, which was beautiful, by the way, the sing-along began, and we threw in the towel about an hour later. Sleeping in the big ass tent was wonderful, what with the nearly full moon holding steady right above our mosquito mesh panels and plenty of air mattress space for everyone, but I wasn't anticipating how nippy it got in the wee hours of the night. The Shorties had flannel sleeping bags attached to their air mattresses, and, at one point, I tried to squeeze my big ass in with Olive, but I couldn't get the damn sleeping bag zipped. Finally, poor T-Bone had to trek a little ways to the car to grab a throwdown quilt I keep in there, but we were all much happier after that. We heard kids screaming until about 10pm, and some chuckleheads by the fire having a deep philosophical debate until about midnight (and they weren't even drunk), but then it was peaceful until sunrise. I love camping out, and with all the bad ass equipment we have now, I hope we get to do it more often. Just with more blankies next time.

Only 80 more days til Christmas

And exactly 0 more days to freak me out with this:

I'm sorry. I love Christmas and all, God knows I do (really, He does. And so do Michael's, Hobby Lobby, and Lowe's), but I can think of a bajillion more respectful and tasteful ways to remember my loved ones than this creepy piece of crap.

For $3 more, you can get it in gold plate, and for $13 more, you can upgrade to this. Eww. I've got to get off all these friggin' mailing lists.

Lord, deliver me from stupid people

I hate stupid questions. HATE them. And I hate people who work in customer service positions who have shitty attitudes. All the time. Not just having a bad day, but having a bad personality. So imagine my joy in the drive-thru at the credit union this morning:

LT: (ring call button)
Teller: (from video screen) Can I help you?
LT: Hi. Can I get -
Teller: Ma'am, I can't hear you. You're going to have to speak up.
LT: (louder, and a little annoyed) Can I get a deposit slip? There aren't any -
Teller: Ma'am, there are deposit slips in the box.
LT: (punchy) But there aren't any in there. It's empty.
Teller: Well, did you look?
LT: (simmering) Y-eee-sss. It's empty.
Teller: And there weren't any in there?
LT: (flat-out bitchy) No! That's why I'm asking for one.
Teller: Well, we got new ones.
LT: (WTF?) O-kaaay.
Teller: (sigh) I guess I'll send one out.
LT: Well, don't hurt yourself. (okay, so that was after she shut off the camera, but still).

Is it me? It's her, right?

Happy Birthday to Olive

Today marks the third anniversary of Olive's birth, when she came bursting into this world with a dark brown mohawk and the eyes and skin to match. A mere fifteen minutes after my epidural finally kicked in, by the way. We celebrated this momentous occasion today with a movie (ehh), lunch (yum), and ice cream cake (drool). Everyone hung in there fairly well, despite a three hour fashion show at home last night, an early morning, and no nap.

After the opening of the presents, there was a bit of a scuffle over the new throwdown doll stroller, Olive actually being the snatcher for once, and when Peach came to me in tears to report the theft, I mentally kicked myself repeatedly for not buying two of the damn things to begin with. Even with my current (un)employment situation, I think I could have swung the seven bucks. That said, I went to Olive to have the sharing toys talk, and she responded with, "But it's not her birthday, Mommy." Ah yes, the old birthday defense. Had she not been wearing every one of the Little Mermaid Happy Meal accessories I got her on eBay, I may have been able to keep a straight face. But, no. After I recovered, she did give up the stroller and apologize to Peach, saying, "I'm sorry I took MY stroller from you, Sissy." Think it's time for the passive aggressive talk?

We rounded out the day with the obligatory trip to Cabela's with my dad. Next weekend is the GGMS fall family campout, so I came home with a new big ass tent, some freeze-dried ice cream sandwiches, and a 40 lb. bag of deer corn. Life is good, my friends. Life is good.

There Oughta Be a Word For That

Remember Sniglets? Yeah, I said it. I remember them, and, back in the day, I may or may not have had one of those cube calendars with a new Sniglet for each day. And because I am a complete dork, I may or may not have tried to submit a few of my own to Rich Hall (but please don't confuse this with my obsession with Rich Little). Anywho, with your help dear readers, we can bring the Sniglet phenomenon into the 21st century. Sooo, what do you call:

• The french fries that fall out of the container and end up in the bottom of your fast food bag
• The ice cube(s) that you drop while filling up your glass from the freezer
• The diaper that you so know is going to be filled with poop and turns out to be wet with the lingering aroma of a righteous toot
• The diaper that you so know is going to be wet and turns out to be a near odorless, yet totally fierce, blow out
• The one shoe that you always see in the middle of the road

I've got a million more (okay, maybe seven), but let's start with these. You have until Monday. Carry on.

Project Peach

I've spoken before of Peach's fashion design talent and her near obsession with this, so I thought it was time to share a few pieces from her latest collection. It has a bit of an Asian influence, with a heavy emphasis on sports, and a little boho thrown in for good measure. You know, something for everyone. May I present Eastern Action Chic 2006:

Please note the detail on the necklace and the boots. Where this child got her hardcore concentration skills and extremely long attention span, I'll never know. Wait - what was I saying again?

Look, even Toni Basil gets worn out and has to take a swig from the old canteen now and again. Hey Mickey!

I don't exactly know where this little cutie is headed, but I'll bet she's a secret agent who can do some wicked martial arts. The lantern purse is actually filled with acid.
Even underwater, a girl's got to look her best.

Same with the tennis court. Or the street corner. Whichever.

And finally, one of Peach's first design attempts. I'm not sure if it's the random cherry pattern or what, but we agreed that the top had "construction issues."

So there's your sneak preview of the winner of Project Runway 2025. Just imagine these designs with jet packs.

Roses are red, and so am I. Man.

Your Aura is Red

You have a high level of emotion. This can mean passion, but it can also mean rage.Usually, you don't take these emotions out on others. You just use them as motivation - and it works! The purpose of your life: embracing all the wonders of the life, lots of travels, and tons of adventures Famous reds include: Madonna, Marilyn Monroe, Jennifer Lopez Careers for you to try: Dancer, Boxer, Surgeon

What Color Is Your Aura?

I am a cartoon character

And it's not just the voice. While working in the yard today, I actually stepped on the business end of a rake and hit myself square in the giant forehead. I just hope my neighbors weren't outside smoking at that particular moment ...

Oh - and can someone please explain this to me? Thanks.

In Praise of Groovy Granola Montessori School

Pardon me while I gush. T-Bone and I went to Parents' Night last night at GGMS, and if it's possible to be in love with a dead old lady I've never met, then I am. And so is everybody in any way affiliated with GGMS. The director and the teachers are so full of the love, they CRY every time they talk about it. So then I cry, natch. The kids are so full of the love, they RUN to the classrooms every day and ASK to do more work during their free time. And Peach is so full of the love her own little self, she is doing 3rd and 4th grade work, even though this is only the 3rd week of 1st grade. It works, y'all.

Every time I've been to a meeting at GGMS, I have been so impressed and inspired by the staff. Everything they say about Montessori education speaks right to me. Plus they are all so damn SMART. And committed. They don't turn it off when the kids leave each day. This is a way of life, yo, and I am such the believer that I have been hanging on by my fingernails for the past four years just trying to get Peach into this amazing place. And now she's there, and she's happy and thriving, and T-Bone and I are walking around with shit-eating grins on our faces, so proud of Peach we could explode.

So, thank you, Jeebus, thank you, universe, and thank you, Maria. Our girl is really on her way.

I meant what I said, and I said what I meant

Overheard while putting Peach to bed tonight, after reading Horton:

P: I am 100% exhausted from today.
LT: Well I am 100% in love with you.
(Pause)
P:(teary) It makes me so happy thinking about you and me. It makes me so happy, it makes me want to cry. Happy tears.

And then we gave each other Hallmark cards and went for a bike ride. Sweet, no?

Aim High, Girls

Used to be that Barbie was not only a fashion plate, she also was a doctor, an astronaut, a teacher - you know, a career girl. Lately, she's gone through a bit of a slutty phase, but now, I think it's official: Barbie has hit rock bottom. She is, quite literally, shoveling shit. Animal feces, to be exact. Barbie now has a pooping dog named Tanner, and her friend Teresa has a peeing cat named Mika, the potty training of which apparently brings great pleasure to all. But where's the yelling and the cussing and the rubbing the animal's face in it? That's what I remember. What a load of crap.

Because I'm the Perfect Mother

That's why I feel like I need a badge and the authority to ticket or imprison other "mothers" when I see them doing stupid things. Like today, for instance. While stopped at a light, I saw little chubby hands rising up from the back seat of the car in front of me, clutching and squeezing a huge balloon and clearly bringing said balloon down to a little mouth full of tiny sharp teeth, perfect for popping said balloon in said little mouth. "Mama" was too busy eating up front to notice that her child was thisclose to landing her on CPS's shit list.

But at least she had the child strapped into his carseat for his possible journey to The Hereafter. Which is more than I can say for the woman I saw driving with her toddler in her lap, with his head hanging out the window, while she drove her stick-shift piece of crap with her other hand. The one with the fucking CAST on it.

I'm So Not Lovin' It

Props to the gal at the Vegan Lunch Box for the link.