Monday, March 30, 2009

Fake it until you feel it.

I love being an actress. I don't get to do it often because I am a mom. I hope to get back into my passion when my son starts kindergarten next year.

I was thinking about this today when I started thinking about how actors sometimes become their rolls until the play/movie is over. How does this apply to us? Lets start immersing ourselves in faking sexy, confident, and healthy ladies!

● Talk to yourself Do you ever wonder what others say behind your back? Forget about it. What do you say about yourself? Are you always putting yourself down? Do you look in the mirror and think "Pfft"? Start stopping negative self talk and love yourself. This task is one of the hardest to do because it is internal. Just yell to yourself "STOP" when you find yourself doing this. Then find something positive you can say about you.

● Lose the loser. Folding your arms, slouching, or gnawing on your cuticles is a great way of telling yourself that you are not happy. It sends a negative message to others too. This makes friendships harder to attract. Our friends help fulfill us.

● Poised Stance. Projecting confidence with your body will make people respond to you more positively, boosting your self-assurance. Head up and shoulders back is the pose that is most attractive to others and makes you feel better.

● Dress the part. You may think your fat jeans make you feel better when you’re feeling blah, but you’re actually perpetuating that“I’m a whale” mind-set every time you slip them on. That means trade the ugly weekend wear for cute body-hugging threads that make you like what you see in the mirror. I don't mean to wear something that makes you feel bad about yourself in the opposite way either. I mean something that is attractive on you but doesn't look like you put no thought into your wardrobe.

● Sexy down under. Your underwear is the key to confidence. So ditch the granny panties, and make your “special occasion” undies part of your everyday wardrobe. This also includes shaving those legs and armpits. When you are sexy down under you exude it to your spouse. That boosts your sex life which then in turn ups your life span and your confidence.

● Pretend you are a pro at exercising Don't act like you hate to go to the gym. Pretend you love it. One day you will love it!

Sunday, March 29, 2009

And The Truth Shall Set You Free (Even Though You Smell Like Pee)!

Fade in: My living room. Picture me cuddling with my seven year old and my nine year old daughters. Enter husband, wearing serious face.

"Honey, you'll want to come see this."
Me: *sigh*

I followed him to the kitchen, where my husband, soul-mate, sugar daddy said, "That's pee on the floor," as he made a grand, sweeping gesture with his hand. Yes, indeedily, it certainly was pee, and a good portion of the kitchen floor and a step-stool were covered with it. The dog hasn't hosed down a room like that in some time and quite frankly, the husband hasn't either. I knew who the culprit was by the fact that the dog wasn't the only pantless one in the kitchen. I looked at the guilty three-year-old Samantha and said, "Sam, did you pee on the floor?"

She said, "Yes, but I said I was sorry."

This surprised me (marking her territory on the linoleum, not her apology) and I asked her why she would do that. Sam looked up from cleaning her mess like a miniature Cinderella and said, "Well, I had to GO."

...Um...Yeah. Okay, that served me right for asking a three-year-old to explain herself.

Fast forward five minutes.

Back to the kitchen to refill my water. Seeing the monster of a dog, I give him a pat on the head as I pass. His head is damp. Wha...? *double take* "How did your head get...Oh, no." I smelled his furry melon and sure enough, that unmistakeable odor reached my nose. Lovely. Just lovely.

"SAM?!" *walks quickly to the living room where Sam sits watching t.v. with her sisters*
"Why is Brinkley's head wet?"
"He got it wet," said Sam.
"Yes, I know, but HOW did he get it wet, Samantha?"
Child makes up story quicker than you can blink..."He put his head in his water bowl."
I said, "No, his head is wet on TOP. How did that happen?"
Oldest sister Madison pipes up, "Sam, if you tell the truth you won't get in trouble." (Yes! Good thinking, Madison. That's how we'll get it out of her! I was just about to get the folding chair, rubber hose and a VERY bright light.)
Sam confesses. "Yes, I pee-peed on the doggy's head." (Mommy hides behind a pillow, giggling silently, thinking "Remember, you're her mother. Laugh later.")
"WHY did you pee on the dog's head?"
Sam, very matter-of-fact, shrugs her shoulders, explaining, "Because it was kinda FUNNY."
Note: Sam has apologized to the dog and promised not to pee on anyone ever again. Madison and I have recovered from our fits of laughter out of Sam's earshot and the floor and dog are once again, clean and pee-free.

Thanks for your support.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Dirty Little Secret... Erotica

How do you feel about Erotica?

I enjoy it. Of course, the caveat to that is that they have to be well written! I admit it, back when I was in college, I wrote some rather smutty fanfiction for several television shows that I am a fan of. They were definitely better written than many of the fics that I read (which, I think is part of the reason I wrote them). I was on AOL Instant Messenger fairly recently, talking with a friend who happened to bring them up. He found a saved file with several of these stories on them - not surprising, I'd used his laptop and written some of them while we were hanging out. He majored in English, and said that rereading them made him realize that I've got a knack for writing erotica. He made the suggestion that I should perhaps take a little bit of my spare time and post some on the Literotica website. Hmm. Why I never thought of that, I don't know. So, here I sit actively contemplating the idea of authoring a story or two... to see how it goes.

A question begs to be asked though... is literary erotica the same thing as pornography?
I don't think so. They have obvious similarities, but erotica is less discriminatory in my opinion. Many of the stories are written in first person, allowing you to substitute yourself into the situation - you're not forced to stare at anorexic blonde teens, while thinking "Hey, I need to lose weight!" or "My thighs jiggle when I do that." or "Hey, if I bounced that much, my girls would give me a black eye!" Instead with the erotic writing, there is more personal depth.

Is it harmful to read? Or inspiring? I suppose, like with anything, that question is an individual one - in the same way that "Just One Beer" might not affect, but would throw a recovering alcoholic into a downward spiral. Definitely, within the context of a larger story, I think it is perfectly acceptable. Alone, I think it is okay, albeit usually somewhat cheesy. I don't think it is necessarily "bad".

Sunday, March 22, 2009

The Pain of Beauty

My husband has been in the Navy for nineteen and a half years. I have been trying to talk him into getting a tattoo for the last six years. He would not budge...until yesterday. A buddy of ours had been sending him little hint texts throughout the week that he was going in to get a new tat this weekend. Of course, I was all over it. A little later the eve before, Todd came to me and asked if we could Google some images. We looked at Celtic and Maori symbols. We looked at dragons. Then he says, “Can we look at skulls?”
I pulled up some skull images and after clicking ‘next’ a few times, he saw the one he wanted. I had told him he might want to pick out something simple just in case he really did not like the way it felt, then the artist could stop after the outline and it would still look cool. It was a nice simple piece and I printed it out. He went off to watch more March Madness. I, for shits and grins, started to Google Goth and dark faerie images. I have wanted a faerie for so long. I already have three tattoos, but relatively small.
I went through the pages, not really with the intent to get one...but the itch had risen after getting excited for Todd and his soon to be virgin ink. I saw some pretty ones. I completely avoided the cartoonist ones. After about the tenth page...*gasp*...there she was. I found my faerie. She looked just like I had pictured her in my head for the last few years, now she was looking back at me. I printed it out, wordlessly walked over to Todd and handed him the picture.
“Wow, she’s hot!”
He looks up at me and says, “You want this, don’t you?”
My reply was simply the look of a child when being offered a piece of candy. He grinned and I knew I could get her.
The next afternoon, we picked up our buddy, Brett, and headed for the tattoo parlor. I have always believed things happen for a reason. When we arrived, Nate, the artist was just finishing up with another customer and there was no one else waiting.
When done, he came out and shook hands with Brett, as he was a frequenter of the place, and introductions made. Todd gave Nate the picture we had printed out; he looked at it and said no problem. I gave him the picture of the faerie I had picked out and he said, “Wow, she’s hot!”
Hmmm, same thing Todd said. *grins*
“We’re going to have to blow this up to get the detail.”
“How much bigger?” I asked.
“Where do you want it?”
“I want to be able to see her, so not on my back.”
Everyone is looking at each other. I pointed to the left underside of my forearm. We all agreed that would be a cool spot. Nate went in the back to blow it up. When he came back out, it was three times bigger than before. I know my eyes bugged. Then I said, “Dude, that’s like a quarter sleeve!”
All the guys are smiling and nodding. As I wrapped my head around this, we all walked to the back and had Todd go first so he wouldn’t chicken out. I was watching his face as the ink hit his skin for the first time. He didn’t like it much, lol. A half hour later, my husband had his first tat. It looked cool.
My turn. I had been getting excited watching Todd get his done, so all the worries about the size mine was to be had disappeared. I got in the chair and it took him about forty-five minutes to complete the outline. Holy shit that was just the outline! I asked, “How long do you think it will take to shade her in?”
“Maybe an hour, hour and fifteen.”
“OK...I need to go pee before you get started again.”
I came out of the bathroom. All of the guys had disappeared outside for a smoke. They come back in and Nate gets going again working the detail.
Then, Todd and Brett ditched me. Those two assholes went to the bar around the corner and left me there writhing and watching the clock all by myself. Soon, the tat-culture crowd starts to fill the back room. Now, there are half a dozen others besides myself the victim, and Nate. They all take their turns walking over to see the work. Much approval circled the room as everyone agreed that it was an awesome tat.
Todd and Brett come back, an hour later, just as Nate is finishing up.
I grinned and once again called them assholes.
Done, I got up and walked over to the was just as beautiful as I had hoped she would be. The detail was so amazing he even captured the demure, yet somewhat come-hither look on her face. She was standing and turned sideways in a shy stance. The wings incredibly detailed and the dress flowed. Her hair looked like it was billowing in the wind and the moon was behind her.
I had withstood two hours of soft-flesh tattooing and greatly rewarded for it.
The pain of beauty.

Friday, March 20, 2009

TMI Friday! "Hairum Scarum" Edition

Hallelujah, I finally got some the other night! Between my "Aunt Flo", who apparently is back on the meth because she booked a flight, forgot to get on it and eventually got re-routed through Brazil before finally arriving, my kids' creative attempts to put off bedtime by asking 1001 Questions About Something Super-Serious and the extra dog I've got right now who doesn't really get along with a certain Psycho Cat I also have sleazing around here, opportunities for the nookie have been scarce.
When sex isn't going to happen and the both of us know it, I tend to let myself go in the extra-girly department and then I have to do catch-up maintenance right quick and in a hurry the day I re-open for business. It would probably be smart if I "vacuumed the basement and dusted the baseboards" more regularly; then it wouldn't take 90 minutes to get me from World-Class Skanky to First-Class MILF.
Due to a low-flying military jet that I really thought was going to crash in the front yard this morning, The Husband Person got up early and decided to play in his facial hair. I walked in on him doing that because I didn't figure he would be up that early and I had to pee like a racehorse.
Sooooo HOT! Dudes shaving is a major, weirdo turn-on of mine; it affects me as if I walked in on him shaking the weasel with Supernatural on in the background and yes, I know that's also really weird. He knows what I'm like, yet he asked me to help him get his new goatee evened up. Yeah, that ended up taking a LOT longer than he expected and we used up all the hot water, shaving cream and Astroglide.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

At this time last year, I was really struggling to stay perky and bright. I was pregnant, if I recall correctly. I must have been, as I now have a baby that refuses to go back back to her real mother. Last winter involved copious amounts of snow, to the point where we were all "snow-weary." "Snow-derangement" followed and Cabin Fever set in with a vengeance. I needed spring like a cactus needs a raindrop--anything, any sign of its arrival, was good enough for me. I hoarded each precious speck of sunshine.

This year, it isn't as bad. In fact, I am already thinking ahead to happy summer plans and events without craving the slightest hint of green in the foliage around my house. I am really beginning to suspect that I live in the wrong area of the country. Now, I must consider how to remedy that problem.

This country is divided up into three parts--California, New York, and everywhere else. I have lived in all three places. I hate living where it is too hot. I can remember in Texas opening my car door and feeling a BLAST of furnace-hot air roaring out at me. That particular car, my little Geo Metro, had no air conditioning. I had to drive along the Texan highways with my windows rolled down. One time my boyfriend was driving, and for some reason I stuck my head out of the window. Perhaps I was feeling wolfish. My glasses, which were missing an earpiece (if I remember correctly) went WHOOSH! right off my face into the roadside Texas Bluebells. In my case, love was truly blind at that point.

I have lived in the rainy Pacific Northwest, in a city riddled with steep inclines and one way streets. Seattle is a fantastic city to stay in shape as a pedestrian--unless you also work for a pasta company and eat what the kitchen cooks every day for lunch. I have seldom been more physically active in my life than at that time--but a diet of tortellini and alfredo sauce and Sherried Mushroom and Brie Soup do not a slim silhouette make. I am proof that you can be in fantastic shape and still be a heifer!

Having lived here, there and everywhere, I really do know that there isn't just one ideal place to dwell. Home is how ya make it. Too much snow, too much oven-hot heat, too much rain... you can find something to complain about no matter where you are.

The goal is to find to look back at where you've been, and appreciate how far you've come.

Fashion has no Sense

Spring Break is a time of fun in the sun for most families. My family has taken the opportunity to hang out at our local amusement park.

The weather was perfect but people were not. There were the men that spit, the kids that argued, and the strange clothing.

The nice thing to see this year is that most ladies have it in their heads now that Capris are not and have not been in style for the past two summers. They are the new "Mom Jeans".

Here are a few tips:

1) If I am standing in line and can tell that your panties don't match your bra then you might want to rethink your wardrobe choice.

2) Muffin top beware. If you think you are in a size 10 pants but your size 18 shirt lets me see the inside of your belly button try going up a few sizes. There is nothing wrong with wearing a bigger size. There is something to be said for wearing clothes that fit. Embrace the size that you are.

3)I understand fully that you don't want to wear the high-waisted sports shorts. Rolling down a little is okay. If I can tell if your hair is your natural color it isn't a good thing.

4)If you want to wear flip-flops great for you. Some of you need to take sandpaper to those puppies. If I have to follow your feet up to your face to find out if they belong to a man or woman because of the polish....not good.

5)Ladies, please go get fitted for a bra. No matter how short you are your boobs should not touch your belt. Many stores will measure you for free. I beg you. If you give the person behind you on the roller coaster a black eye you might get sued.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

St. Paddy's Day

All information is taken from here.


st. patricks day

The First Parade

St. Patrick's Day is celebrated on March 17, his religious feast day and the anniversary of his death in the fifth century. The Irish have observed this day as a religious holiday for thousands of years.

On St. Patrick's Day, which falls during the Christian season of Lent, Irish families would traditionally attend church in the morning and celebrate in the afternoon. Lenten prohibitions against the consumption of meat were waived and people would dance, drink, and feast—on the traditional meal of Irish bacon and cabbage.

The first St. Patrick's Day parade took place not in Ireland, but in the United States. Irish soldiers serving in the English military marched through New York City on March 17, 1762. Along with their music, the parade helped the soldiers to reconnect with their Irish roots, as well as fellow Irishmen serving in the English army.

Over the next thirty-five years, Irish patriotism among American immigrants flourished, prompting the rise of so-called "Irish Aid" societies, like the Friendly Sons of Saint Patrick and the Hibernian Society. Each group would hold annual parades featuring bagpipes (which actually first became popular in the Scottish and British armies) and drums.

No Irish Need Apply

Up until the mid-nineteenth century, most Irish immigrants in America were members of the Protestant middle class. When the Great Potato Famine hit Ireland in 1845, close to a million poor, uneducated, Catholic Irish began to pour into America to escape starvation. Despised for their religious beliefs and funny accents by the American Protestant majority, the immigrants had trouble finding even menial jobs. When Irish Americans in the country's cities took to the streets on St. Patrick's Day to celebrate their heritage, newspapers portrayed them in cartoons as drunk, violent monkeys.

However, the Irish soon began to realize that their great numbers endowed them with a political power that had yet to be exploited. They started to organize, and their voting block, known as the "green machine," became an important swing vote for political hopefuls. Suddenly, annual St. Patrick's Day parades became a show of strength for Irish Americans, as well as a must-attend event for a slew of political candidates. In 1948, President Truman attended New York City 's St. Patrick's Day parade, a proud moment for the many Irish whose ancestors had to fight stereotypes and racial prejudice to find acceptance in America.

Wearing of the Green Goes Global

Today, St. Patrick's Day is celebrated by people of all backgrounds in the United States, Canada, and Australia. Although North America is home to the largest productions, St. Patrick's Day has been celebrated in other locations far from Ireland, including Japan, Singapore, and Russia.

In modern-day Ireland, St. Patrick's Day has traditionally been a religious occasion. In fact, up until the 1970s, Irish laws mandated that pubs be closed on March 17. Beginning in 1995, however, the Irish government began a national campaign to use St. Patrick's Day as an opportunity to drive tourism and showcase Ireland to the rest of the world. Last year, close to one million people took part in Ireland 's St. Patrick's Festival in Dublin, a multi-day celebration featuring parades, concerts, outdoor theater productions, and fireworks shows.

The Shamrock

In fact the first written mention of this story did not appear until nearly a thousand years after Patrick's death.

The shamrock, which was also called the "seamroy" by the Celts, was a sacred plant in ancient Ireland because it symbolized the rebirth of spring. By the seventeenth century, the shamrock had become a symbol of emerging Irish nationalism. As the English began to seize Irish land and make laws against the use of the Irish language and the practice of Catholicism, many Irish began to wear the shamrock as a symbol of their pride in their heritage and their displeasure with English rule.

The Snake

It has long been recounted that, during his mission in Ireland, St. Patrick once stood on a hilltop (which is now called Croagh Patrick), and with only a wooden staff by his side, banished all the snakes from Ireland.

In fact, the island nation was never home to any snakes. The "banishing of the snakes" was really a metaphor for the eradication of pagan ideology from Ireland and the triumph of Christianity. Within two hundred years of Patrick's arrival, Ireland was completely Christianized.


Be prepared to toast on St. Patrick's Day!

For all those who were wondering what to say on March 17th, when they raise their glasses, here are a few phrases to remember:

May God bring good health to your enemies enemies
May you live to be a hundred years, with one extra year to repent.
May you be in heaven one half hour before the devil knows you're dead.

As you slide down the banisters of life may the splinters never point the wrong way.

There are many good reasons for drinking,
One has just entered my head,
If a man doesn't drink when he's living,
How the hell can he drink when he's dead?

May the best day of your past be the worst day of your future.

May you get all your wishes but one,
So you always have something to strive for.

Here's to you,
here's to me,
the best of friends we'll always be.
But if we ever disagree,
forget you here's to ME!!

Here's to your coffin...
May it be built of 100 year old oaks which I will plant tomorrow.

Here's to you as good as you are,
Here's to me as bad as I am,
As good as you are,
And as bad as I am,
I'm as good as you are,
As bad as I am.

May the sons of your daughters smile up in your face.

Health, and long life to you
Land without rent to you
The partner of your heart to you
and when you die, may your bones rest in Ireland!

May your blessings outnumber
The shamrocks that grow,
And may trouble avoid you
Wherever you go.

May your neighbors respect you,
Troubles neglect you,
The angels protect you,
And Heaven accept you.

An old Irish recipe for longevity:
Leave the table hungry.
Leave the bed sleepy.
Leave the bar thirsty.

I've drunk to your health in the pubs ,
I've drunk to your health in my home ,
I've drunk to your health so many times ,
That I've almost ruined my own.

May you never forget what is worth remembering,
Or remember what is best forgotten.

May you have the hindsight to know where you've been,
The insight to know where you are,
and the foresight to know when you've gone too far.

May you have warm words on a cold evening,
A full moon on a dark night,
And the road downhill all the way to your door.

May you never make an enemy
When you could make a friend
Unless you meet a fox among your chickens.

May your fire be as warm as the weather is cold.

The Leprechaun

The original Irish name for these figures of folklore is "lobaircin," meaning "small-bodied fellow."

Belief in leprechauns probably stems from Celtic belief in fairies, tiny men and women who could use their magical powers to serve good or evil. In Celtic folktales, leprechauns were cranky souls, responsible for mending the shoes of the other fairies. Though only minor figures in Celtic folklore, leprechauns were known for their trickery, which they often used to protect their much-fabled treasure.

Leprechauns had nothing to do with St. Patrick or the celebration of St. Patrick's Day, a Catholic holy day. In 1959, Walt Disney released a film called Darby O'Gill & the Little People, which introduced America to a very different sort of leprechaun than the cantankerous little man of Irish folklore. This cheerful, friendly leprechaun is a purely American invention, but has quickly evolved into an easily recognizable symbol of both St. Patrick's Day and Ireland in general.

Who Was St. Patrick?

St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, is one of Christianity's most widely known figures. But for all his celebrity, his life remains somewhat of a mystery. Many of the stories traditionally associated with St. Patrick, including the famous account of his banishing all the snakes from Ireland, are false, the products of hundreds of years of exaggerated storytelling.

Taken Prisoner By Irish Raiders

It is known that St. Patrick was born in Britain to wealthy parents near the end of the fourth century. He is believed to have died on March 17, around 460 A.D. Although his father was a Christian deacon, it has been suggested that he probably took on the role because of tax incentives and there is no evidence that Patrick came from a particularly religious family. At the age of sixteen, Patrick was taken prisoner by a group of Irish raiders who were attacking his family's estate. They transported him to Ireland where he spent six years in captivity. (There is some dispute over where this captivity took place. Although many believe he was taken to live in Mount Slemish in County Antrim, it is more likely that he was held in County Mayo near Killala.) During this time, he worked as a shepherd, outdoors and away from people. Lonely and afraid, he turned to his religion for solace, becoming a devout Christian. (It is also believed that Patrick first began to dream of converting the Irish people to Christianity during his captivity.)

Guided By Visions

After more than six years as a prisoner, Patrick escaped. According to his writing, a voice-which he believed to be God's-spoke to him in a dream, telling him it was time to leave Ireland.

To do so, Patrick walked nearly 200 miles from County Mayo, where it is believed he was held, to the Irish coast. After escaping to Britain, Patrick reported that he experienced a second revelation-an angel in a dream tells him to return to Ireland as a missionary. Soon after, Patrick began religious training, a course of study that lasted more than fifteen years. After his ordination as a priest, he was sent to Ireland with a dual mission-to minister to Christians already living in Ireland and to begin to convert the Irish. (Interestingly, this mission contradicts the widely held notion that Patrick introduced Christianity to Ireland.)

Bonfires and Crosses

Familiar with the Irish language and culture, Patrick chose to incorporate traditional ritual into his lessons of Christianity instead of attempting to eradicate native Irish beliefs. For instance, he used bonfires to celebrate Easter since the Irish were used to honoring their gods with fire. He also superimposed a sun, a powerful Irish symbol, onto the Christian cross to create what is now called a Celtic cross, so that veneration of the symbol would seem more natural to the Irish. (Although there were a small number of Christians on the island when Patrick arrived, most Irish practiced a nature-based pagan religion. The Irish culture centered around a rich tradition of oral legend and myth. When this is considered, it is no surprise that the story of Patrick's life became exaggerated over the centuries-spinning exciting tales to remember history has always been a part of the Irish way of life.)

My husband and I don't celebrate St. Paddy's in the typical fashion (go out, get hammered on green beer and make a fool of yourself). Due to his allergy to alcohol (and he's Irish to boot; he does love some good meat and potatoes, though!), we don't go out and drink. In fact, the last time I got completely hammered was St. Paddy's in 2004. Instead of celebrating the drunken way, we instead make a dinner of meat and potatoes, as well as corned beef and cabbage (which I love!). As for Irish drinks, I'm sure I can find something in the information I found.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Let them eat PI!

March 14th (3.14) is Pi Day. I’ve never been big on math, but I love PI. The fact that pi represents an infinite number proves that…you can never have too much pi!

I know sometimes we find ourselves searching for ways to celebrate these lesser known holidays, so I’ve put together a few suggestions. Honestly, how can you call yourself a nerd if you don’t celebrate Pi Day?!

Here are some ways to get your geeky pi-party started:

You can enjoy 3.14 pieces of pizza pi, apple pi, pumpkin pi and/or various flavors of meringue pi or make a pi-napple upside down cake while you watch American Pi.

If you’re feeling particularly brainy, make up a song to help you recite as many numbers in Pi as you can. I’ll get you started: 3.14159265358979323846 (and away we go!)

Read the tale of the Pi-ed piper of Hamelin to your kids.

Do not use the Pi-thagorean Theorem…unless you’re working with your triangles inside of a circle (then I suppose it’s okay).

Wish people a happy Pi Day and if they respond with, “Oh, you mean like Pi r squared?” please correct them. Pi are round; cornbread and brownies are squared.

Looking to be Pi-lingual? Use these.

Pirate: The going price of pi.
Pints: units of volume in which pi is available.
Pinto: Ford’s official exploding vehicle of pi.
Pioneer: Within a reasonable distance to pi. (A yummy smell is usually a good indication that nomable pi is close by. Nom nom nom.)
Pi-sces: What pi does.
Pi-Romania: Where Transylvanian pi fanatics reside.
Pi-thon: refers to a skimpy undergarment adorned with the π symbol. (It is commonly misspelled by omitting a G at the end.)
Pi-sexual: The thought of scantily clad pi makes you horny regardless of its gender.

Remember, the party officially starts on 3/14 at 1:59:26.

Go forth and multi-pi.


Thursday, March 12, 2009

"No, you can’t."

I hate, HATE to hear that phrase. No one likes to be told NO. In this instance I’m talking about food, specifically the unhealthy Two Minutes On The Lips, Twenty Years On The Hips variety. It makes me want whatever it is that much more.

If I say to myself: “Self, you can't have ice cream" what do you think I want for the rest of the day? The forbidden fruit that is ice cream, of course!

I am still learning to encourage myself. I parent by turning my negative into a positive. Well, why not guide myself the same way? Instead of telling my kids, "No, you cannot go outside and play. Your homework isn't finished" I say "Yes, you may go out to play as soon as your homework is done."

If I incorporate that positive tone into my self-talk I bet I'd have better results. It's about making a choice (the healthier choice) for me, and not about telling myself not to do something and scolding myself when I have a weak moment. It's about learning to replace a bad habit with a good one.

I kicked the smoking habit 11 years ago, but I replaced it with a sedentary lifestyle of binge-eating and television-watching. Now I have to get moving and create a new, positive habit for myself.

It's time I turned the "no, you can't" into "yes, I can".

Yes. I can.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

"Listen to the wind blow... Watch the sun rise..."

Who knew that these seven words (accompanied of course, by the appropriate musical accompaniment) would be enough to give me the chills? That isn't entirely true, as soon as I hear the opening chords to "The Chain", I get a chill down my spine, and a smile on my face. I can be anywhere and hear the famous bass line, then regardless of the circumstances I will smile involuntarily.

"Running in the shadows, Damn your love. Damn your lies"
I fell in love with the music of Fleetwood Mac nearly 8 years ago. Being a huge fan of Classic Rock during the Britney and the Boy Bands era of music made me an oddity. I have a personal requirement of my musicians - they must play their own music. None of the electronic stuff, no lip synching dance shows for me! I'll take the chance that my bands won't be perfect every performance, because live shows with real music is so much better.

"And if you don't love me now, You will never love me again"
Sometimes the little flubs and quirks make the shows even more memorable. There was one concert during the "Say You Will" tour (2003 & 2004) that had a VERY memorable quirk. During the song "Goodbye Baby" a fight broke out in the audience (who the hell fights at a Fleetwood Mac concert?!) and Stevie Nicks was surprised enough that she missed her cue to sing the second verse. So Lindsey Buckingham picked it up for her, singing the second verse of the song - allowing her the time to compose herself. This happened also with "Silver Springs" during the Dance tour (1997), with Stevie losing her composure and Lindsey singing the final "You could be my silver spring... my blue green colors flashing..." which of course added so much to the show. I've heard a bootleg recording of that show, and despite the poor recording quality - it was amazing and very moving.

"I can still hear you saying, you would never break, never break the chain"
The first concert I ever attended was September 24, 2003. I saw Fleetwood Mac at the Boston Garden (then called the FleetCenter), with my boyfriend Josh. I honestly to this day think he just humored my semi-obsession because I put up with his addiction to Anime. I mean serious addiction. I fell in love all over again (with the band, not the boy) that night. The music reverberated through my body and into the depths of my soul. How I ended up at the concert, is somewhat a sad tale. My aunt Barbara was dying, she had terminal lung cancer. Rather than working a summer job, I spent my days with her - keeping her company. Back in the 70s, she was a huge fan of Fleetwood Mac, and we talked about them from time to time. I went online to get tickets, and found nothing even halfway decent. I checked Ebay, and found two 9th row seats, for only a hair over the regular price. My mom wouldn't budge, said she'd only buy tix from ticketmaster. My aunt talked to her, I have no idea what she said, but mom relented, and I got the tickets. Fleetwood Mac's music got me through the next several months. It was nearly two months after the concert that my aunt passed away. I drowned my sorrows in music, and rejoiced when I had the opportunity to see the Mac perform again in May 2004. The second concert was at the Tweeter Center (formerly Great Woods, currently the Comcast Center). The acoustics there are less than stellar. I had a great time, nonetheless.

"And if you don't love me now, you will never love me again..."
I was more than disappointed when the tour ended, having only seen the band perform twice. I whined, and complained... until the Live In Boston dvd came out. Then there was more amazing news. Stevie was going on tour with Don Henley from the Eagles in 2005! I was all over that, and got myself a ticket the day that they went on sale. I went alone this time, without any company... I almost liked it better that way. It was again at the Tweeter Center, so the acoustics bit the big one, but I had a better vantage point this time. Hearing Stevie and Don duet on Hotel California rocked. Check it out.

I love that version, of the song, and think that they need to record it.

"I can still hear you saying you would never break, never break the chain"
In 2007, Stevie released a Greatest Hits album called Crystal Visions. Then she toured, this time with Chris Isaak. I'm not crazy about the pairing, and definitely not a Chris Isaak fan, but I had fun anyhow. I was VERY pregnant at this show, it was June 24th 2007. I had Connor a little over a month later. Apparently going to a concert while pregnant gets you dirty looks. I had a blast, though. So there! Connor kicked the whole time... haha. Musician in training? I hope so.

"Listen to the wind blow... watch the sun rise. Running in the shadows, Damn your love, Damn your lies"
So that brings us back to the present. I am more than excited to go see Fleetwood Mac tonight. I actually have spending money this time! Thank heaven for tax returns, right? I'm probably getting a tote bag, and a teeshirt, but I might splurge and get a sweatshirt instead... I'm not sure yet. I'm taking the train into the city, so I don't have to worry about parking. I'm actually wearing makeup, and styling my hair (or attempting to!) But with the rain, who knows if it'll hold. I'll be back for part two of my post late, late tonight.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Mental Capacity

I was getting ready to take the kidlets to school this morning, and  mentally going over all that I needed to get done today, when it dawned upon me; my brain was multi-tasking like a big dog. I was answering queries such as where one kid's backpack was, where another one had left their book, and telling my husband where his jacket was, all the while planning my dinner menu, mentally organizing my study schedule for the day, and listing all the chores I needed to get done and in what order. It was a hub-bub of activity in the ole bean department.

I remember days gone by, pre-kids, pre-husband, when my biggest concern was... me. Where were my shoes, should I wear this jacket or a sweater, did I remember to put a second coat of polish on my toes last nite, hair up or down, I wonder if Cute Guy One is going to call, and should I go out with him Saturday and the Cute Guy Two on Sunday...? I could think a thought through to completion. I could read a book, soak in the words, and think about it uninterrupted. I had actual conversations with real live grown-ups about the different things I thought about, and did things like "brain-storm". I had room to be air-headed and flighty and silly, because my brain had not yet filled to capacity. I could fill it with whatever nonsense I wanted, and call it "important".

Now it feels like my brain is crammed with information both useless and terribly important. The useless is more fodder for my children's amusement. The important is the stuff that keeps us all alive and the household functioning. There's more of the latter than the former, and as life rolls inexorably forward, the less useless I have floating around in there and the more terribly important takes it's place. It's cool, but at the same time, kind-of a drag.

They say that you never truly forget anything, that it, whatever it is, is actually stored away in your head somewhere, and the proper stimulation can bring it forth again. I beg to differ. I think that as I get older, and more responsible (don't laugh), the more the weird and silly and useless goes out one side and is replaced with the important, the things that "matter". But of course I couldn't tell you for sure, since I can't remember just what it is that I have forgotten. So how important, or not, it was or could be isn't something I can say.

And there you have it. Whatever it is. I kinda forgot the point I was trying to make... maybe I'll remember later, if it hasn't already been replaced...



Monday, March 9, 2009

She wasn't the problem

Why don’t dads get the adoration and irritation that moms get? Is it the estrogen molecules that cause us to butt heads? That we look at this woman who runs our lives for the first two decades and wonder, “Will I turn into THAT when I get older?”

0-12 years old: The woman was my bread and butter. She kissed the boo-boos, fed me, freaked out more than I did when my knee got crunched by a soccer teammate, always volunteered at school, tolerated piles of PTA-generated drama, always bought me books, and laughed at some incredibly dumb knock-knock jokes.

12-14 years old: She’s getting a little irritating what with always asking me what I did at school, who is it that I’m talking to on the phone, making sure that I’ve practiced for drill team. Whatever, Mom. She still buys me books.

14-17 years old: This woman has somehow morphed into a rule wielding, tight-fisted idiot that wants to cripple my social life, ban me from the telephone and radio forever, put me into ugly clothing and make me do nothing but take the dog for a walk and do my homework after I scrub the toilets.

Dad isn’t too cool either, with his “Go ask your mom” response anytime I ask him anything. It’s like he knows she’s going to say no. And it turned out they were serious when they said no driver’s license until your grades improve.
Her book buying ways continue, but Mom sucks.

17- 20 years old: They actually let me transfer out of high school into college early?! Wow.
My mother and I are able to have discussions about various topics, although boyfriends are an area to be avoided. She also makes the ultimate decision that I’m allowed to go to Mexico with my best friend and her parents, trusting that I will be responsible enough to handle any situations that occur. We’ve started swapping books back and forth.

20-25 years old: I moved out of the house. When my parents move 200 miles away, I *gasp* look forward to visiting them and hanging out when they come to town. My mother has become rather funny and insightful, and brings me bags full of books when she visits. She’s. . . human. And I’m not a completely insensitive beast towards her anymore. What the heck?

25-29 years old: Dude. It sucks that Mom lives so far away. AT&T thanks us for our business. She dumps 200+ romance novels on me during one visit. On this one, I’m not sure how happy I am.

29 -32 years old: Mom, I’m pregnant. Mom is struck dumb and silent over the phone lines, and then starts laughing. Mom stays with me for two weeks after first baby is born. I’m so incredibly relieved to have this very smart woman who did pretty well raising her kids here to help. I don’t take her suggestions as criticism, and she says I’m doing a danged good job of being a mom. I glow for days from this.

Mom, you’re going to be a grandma again. She says she’ll come stay with me for a while after the baby is born and she’s got a bunch of books for me. I can’t wait for her to get here.

And now, I’m stuck realizing that in thirty years, Killian and the as-yet-unnamed beastie to be born will be able to write this same journal post about me. Huh.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Wanted to share my (C)Saturday with you

I know today isn't my day to blog, but I wrote this out and wanted to share how my Saturday was today. You can kill me later.
Today was originally set aside to do a home cleansing for two girls in our (mine and Pat's) cosmetology class. After some texts yesterday afternoon, they were both terribly sick and not feeling overly well. Home cleansing is to be rescheduled.

Pat got up with Bella and, after changing her dirty butt to a clean one, he brought her in the bed with us for some nice hanging out time. I love weekends for this reason. He brings in a Belladonna needing a bath wearing only Star Wars Clones pajama bottoms and no shirt. It was adorable.

We came out to the living room after a short time and put on Maggie and the Ferocious Beast (more like, Whiny Bitch). She had TWO bowls of Raisin Bran. Considering the amount she ate (or, rather, didn't eat) this past week, this is a huge accomplishment. I ate one as well. Pat mentioned that if our money hit the account, that we should just go out for breakfast or brunch. The words "shower" and "Tuesday" came from my mouth and it was decided that all three of us were going to cram in the shower and get clean. It was definitely a fun experience.

After we're all clean and Pat and I are dressed, my mother knocks on the door (she learned from when we were in Denver together the first time; mid-coitus and she didn't knock) and asks if we don't have anything planned, that she and her friend (they've known each other since they were 10; she's 51) are meeting up this afternoon at Mimi's Cafe for lunch and invited us along. Sweetness. I mentioned that I need to pick up some shoes (for school and a possible new, better paying job) at the Mills mall. She offered to take Bella for a bit so that we could do that and all of us would meet at Mimi's.

We spent just over $130 at Off Broadway Shoes for four pair of clearance shoes. There was an additional 10% discount on our purchase. Score. After that, Pat says that we can buy his games now (which is fine; I love watching him play) and spent $142 at Game Stop (two games, one strategy guide and membership cards for both of us). Then, it was lunch.

We still had some errands to run at Mills, so we went back. We proceeded to shop at Target, MasterCuts (I need silk drops), Sanrio, and Orange Julius. My mom dropped $160 at the Children's Place on stuff for Bella. Holy crowded store, Batman! Once home, we vegged. Bella decided she wanted to wear a pair of sunglasses and cute foam sandals we picked up at Children's Place, a spiffy hat from a kiosk (not really a kiosk, but there was a Native American guy there playing flutes and panpipes; sounded awesome) and a purse she really liked from Sanrio. So, she was walking around the house looking like how a Beverly Hills celeb wants to look when going for that "I just threw on whatever was clean" look. It was awesome on Bella.

(Jumping around a bit.) After Target, we walked over to Lens Crafters to wait for Mimi (my mom) and started trying on glasses frames. I will need some new glasses and am thinking about trying out different frames from what I have now. There are maybe a few possibles. I took Bella over to the kid's glasses and just put them on her face. She would keep them on long enough for Daddy to see and then take them off, saying, "Too big." It sounded like she kept saying "stupid." There were a couple that looked great on her (with Pat's genes and mine, the girl is destined to wear glasses).

Anyway, that was my day. The economy was properly stimulated.

"Everyone secretly hates the prettiest girl in the room." -Ani DiFranco
ani.jpg ani difranco image by leahshively

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Kyle, How Do I Love Thee?

As an admitted unregenerate television addict, it will surprise none of you to learn that I am besotted with the ABC Family program Kyle XY and therefore somewhat glum that in a few weeks, the show will be ending forever. But only somewhat glum, because I'd rather have something as beautiful and unique as Kyle XY leave me wanting more than get stale and fizzle out.

*imagine the movie ad announcer voice*
In a world where nothing is original anymore, one character stands alone. And he has no bellybutton.

The idea of an advanced and unique human isn't new. Pick your comic book hero. However, the beauty of the story of Kyle is in the character of Kyle himself. Hyper-intelligent and possessed of certain special abilities due to being a genetically modified clone grown in a pod, Kyle is also guileless, innocent, free from ego or ambition beyond the simple desire to help people. The typical American family who takes the boy with no bellybutton in provides both safe haven from the scads of various nefarious people and agencies anxious to get ahold of Kyle in order to exploit him and an important contrast between the complicated interplay of logic and emotion that governs the average parent-teenager relationship and Kyle's straightforward, completely honest approach to the world around him.

Kyle XY has taken advantage of the blogging community, spinning the story of Kyle with help from the people who adore the show. Intended to be a single-season space-filler, Kyle XY caught on so fast and so completely that the show's writers scrambled around to come up with a story arc for a theoretical Season Two, eventually cadging some plot details and other ideas off the ABC Family web forum. And while the creators of the show Smallville had plenty of time to slowly transform their flannel-shirt-sporting, power-developing Clark Kent into the Superman we all know and love because Tom Welling was already in his mid-20's when the show started, 18-year-old actor Matt Dallas went through a growth spurt and heavy hit of hormones between seasons One and Two, forcing the show's producers to change Kyle's "look" from jeans-and-white-t-shirt goofy kid to much more spiffy duds to match his maturing face. Not wanting to be stuck with the usual "Superman/Lois Lane" diad in which dishonesty is necessary to protect the object of his affection, the writers did some things that are unique in my experience: they had Kyle be almost completely honest with his lady-love (he left out the pod part) and they wrote in a second pod child--female. Any one of these moves is usually a shark-jumper; all of them together should have kiboshed any chance the show ever had.

But it didn't. As high as the cheese factor is on Kyle XY, it does provide the viewer with solid plots and resolutions, relateable characters, heart-wrenching epiphanic moments and utterly unique situations and imagery.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Girl card

I hereby reserve my right to use my official girl card at will.

I hereby undertake the following valid rules and regulations of the girl card (Appendix 1), to be personally responsible for all uses of said card. I also undertake informing this blog if I personally misuse or lose my girl card.

I reserve the right to be a progressive woman while carry said card. I promise to use the card sparingly and wisely.


What is a girl card you ask? My hope is that you will understand fully at the end of this post.

Ladies I have previously posted about waxing, shaving, and plucking. There are so many things that we do in our daily lives to be girly.

We get points on our girl card for the following:
*Moderate amounts of makeup
*Dressing in lady-like way
*Doing nice things for significant other
*painting nails and toe nails
*Being a great cook
*Wearing dresses and skirts
*Fixing our hair pretty

We lose girl card points for the following:
*Never shaving
*Wearing boxy clothing or men's clothes
*Wearing too much makeup

What is the girl card used for? The girl card is thrown into the ring when there is a task to be done that we don't want to do.

This week I am using my girl card. It was hot outside the other day so we turn on the air conditioner. My husband figured out that our AC was blowing hot air. He called our maintenance guy. A large toothed animal had chewed through the wiring in the side yard. The animal was fried. The girl card was used so that I would not have to dispose of fried critter.

Does using the girl card mean that I am anti-feminist? No. I am perfectly capable of cleaning up the dead animal. I would if my husband was not around. I just don't want to.

How do you use your girl card?


"You can do anything you want to do. All you have to do is believe in yourself."
This is a conversation heard universally. Children all over God's creation go to sleep thinking they are going to grow up to be movies stars, pro basketball players, and pop artists.
Why is it that as parents we feel the need to perpetuate this misrepresentation of life? Of course we don't want to squash our children's dreams, but don't we want to help them dream in practicalities?
I have seen TV shows where parents lead their children to believe they have special talents. These poor children then are devastated when their dreams are shot down.
I am 5'2" girl. I will never be a pro basketball player. I can practice every day. I can work out. I can put my mind to it but I will never get farther than possibly being a basketball coach.
What is wrong with telling our children that you are glad they enjoy [fill in the blank] but it isn't their talent. Your child can do the activity for fun. Then ask them to look at something they are gifted with for a career.
Singing is one of those places where you can try your hardest but if you are not born with pipes you have no hope. You can get better. You will never even be near the best. So why does everyone want to be the best at singing?
I strive to balance my children with realistic hopes and really encouraging their gifts and talents.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

What do you do?

There are two sick babies in my [parent's] home. One, is my youngest, my daughter. She hasn't thrown up in the last couple of days, which is very good. She's still very much a cuddle bug, though. She's not normally a cuddle bug unless she's not feeling well. Currently, she's watching Dora the Explorer and the Silly Fiesta.

The other sick baby is my dearest, my husband. He's had a fever off and on the last couple of days. He's currently resting. He's supposed to do some Shake 'n' Bake chork pops tonight, but, if he's not feeling well, I have no problem making it instead.

I was offered a job [via telephone message] yesterday. It's full-time, admin work (which is what I've been wanting to do since we got to Denver) and it's quite close to where school and home are. Thing is, it's that, with it being full-time, I have to change up my school schedule. I'm going days currently and working nights (yay for nights off during the week!). If this job works out, I'll do the regular 8-4/9-5 work-day and then be at school from 5-10. This job also starts April 1st, a Wednesday. My school schedule has me going out on the salon floor starting March 30th, so I won't be in the classroom much longer. Yay!

I'm waiting on my federal tax refund, as well as some school money (might help if I actually go to the website, huh?). If anything, my school money should be in my bank account within a week of me verifying my enrollment. Woot. All to wait for after that, is my federal return.

That's it for this Ninja.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Play the game

The three year old wants to play a video game. He has the basics, but not the fine control to really play. He asks over and over and finally you give in. The toys are still scattered all over the living room. The dishes are still piled up in the sink. The laundry still is not folded. You feed the baby while playing the game. The game has taken over you whole day. You need to play the game. The game is calling to you. It is now a thing that has taken over you life. You have to get to the next level. You have to complete the challenge. You need the game. The child is sitting next to you yelling Patrick! Spongebob! It suddenly dawns on you that you have been playing a Spongebob game all day. Where has the time gone? What has happened to your day. You finally tell the three year old you have to get some stuff done. He fusses, but gets over it. Beware however. The second you sit down he wants to play again. No, you need some adult conversation and some time to relax. Now when you go to bed you are playing the game in your sleep. That has not happened since 1992 when you played Tetris nonstop for days on end. You would put pieces together in your sleep. No more game playing for a few days. You need to get away from the game. Not to mention you have had Patrick's voice singing where is thumbkin in her head for the last three days. ACK!