http://www.blogthings.com/whatcolorisyourbrainquiz/
My brain is RED!!!
That is so funny because Red is my favorite color.
Of all the brain types, yours is the most impulsive.
If you think it, you do it.
And you can get the bug to pursue almost any passion.
Your thoughts are big and bold.
Your mind has no inhibitions.
You tend to spend a lot of time thinking about love, your dreams, and distant places.
Yes, I do.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
I figured out my crazy behavior
I know what the problem is.
I am going through my annual mid year, mid life, crisis. About one month before my birthday, every year, I go through this feeling of having to "break out" and do something to re-calibrate, feel more alive, not feel so "imamomsoimustbeboringanddowdy"...
Some years I get through it ok. Some I do not. It usually passes after the actual day (March17) and I can then go back to being "normal" (whatever that is.)
Wish me luck. Let the countdown to normal begin.
I'll be 41. SIGH.
(You can tell me I still look young and beautiful, I can take it.)
I am going through my annual mid year, mid life, crisis. About one month before my birthday, every year, I go through this feeling of having to "break out" and do something to re-calibrate, feel more alive, not feel so "imamomsoimustbeboringanddowdy"...
Some years I get through it ok. Some I do not. It usually passes after the actual day (March17) and I can then go back to being "normal" (whatever that is.)
Wish me luck. Let the countdown to normal begin.
I'll be 41. SIGH.
(You can tell me I still look young and beautiful, I can take it.)
Saturday, February 24, 2007
To whom it may concern at the movie theatre
I saw Bridge to Teribithia tonight.
I want my money back and so do my kids.
I want my money back and so do my kids.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Life is just a fantasy, can you live a fantasy life?
Question:
Have you ever been insanely attracted to anyone sexually, that you know you wouldn't, couldn't love, but the fantasy of actually having sex with them is more than you could stand, even though you know the actual event would most likely be a letdown? (this is of course, hypothetical)
Yes, the devil is working very hard on me this week. This is why it is good for me to have some drama in my life.
I have decided that since I can't seem to get any REAL excitement, I am going to go have long, red, fake fingernails put on tomorrow.
Hell, maybe I'll even get a tattoo.
Have you ever been insanely attracted to anyone sexually, that you know you wouldn't, couldn't love, but the fantasy of actually having sex with them is more than you could stand, even though you know the actual event would most likely be a letdown? (this is of course, hypothetical)
Yes, the devil is working very hard on me this week. This is why it is good for me to have some drama in my life.
I have decided that since I can't seem to get any REAL excitement, I am going to go have long, red, fake fingernails put on tomorrow.
Hell, maybe I'll even get a tattoo.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Vote : Panty lines are sexy, NO?
I have several obsessive compulsive traits that I just cannot get over - So I will do the Thursday Thirteen (per Lady Jane Scarlett's blog) about things that just drive me NUTS:
1) Body Hair - in my next life I will be an esthetician - WAX anyone???
2) I cannot stand for ANYONE to use my pillow. (I AM an only child - hel-looo...)
3) I have a lot of jewelry, but tend to wear hoop earrings 99% of the time
4) I have to have a tall boy AMP and two krispy kreme donuts for breakfast Mon-Fri - If I don't, I become the bitch from hell (somebody asked me how I keep from getting fat, I just say it keeps me from getting skinny)
5) i swear like a sailor when I'm nervous
6) I can't stand for anyone to use my bath towel
7) I have to drink from a straw whenever possible (even at home)
8) I can't tell you #8, it's private
9) I think a proper woman should always wear a slip with a sheer dress (the guys will get me for this one)
10) I can't stand easy listening music, it makes me nervous (then I start swearing)
11) I get separation anxiety when I don't have my cell phone and start freaking out
12) I would live on peas, toast, popcorn, heath bars, donuts, amp, and coke exclusively if somebody else didn't remind me to eat something else (or feed me)
13) I abhore panty lines. It is my mission in life to NEVER have panty lines.
Trouble with #13 is that my husband says some men think panty lines are very sexy.
What are your thoughts my few and fearless readers??
1) Body Hair - in my next life I will be an esthetician - WAX anyone???
2) I cannot stand for ANYONE to use my pillow. (I AM an only child - hel-looo...)
3) I have a lot of jewelry, but tend to wear hoop earrings 99% of the time
4) I have to have a tall boy AMP and two krispy kreme donuts for breakfast Mon-Fri - If I don't, I become the bitch from hell (somebody asked me how I keep from getting fat, I just say it keeps me from getting skinny)
5) i swear like a sailor when I'm nervous
6) I can't stand for anyone to use my bath towel
7) I have to drink from a straw whenever possible (even at home)
8) I can't tell you #8, it's private
9) I think a proper woman should always wear a slip with a sheer dress (the guys will get me for this one)
10) I can't stand easy listening music, it makes me nervous (then I start swearing)
11) I get separation anxiety when I don't have my cell phone and start freaking out
12) I would live on peas, toast, popcorn, heath bars, donuts, amp, and coke exclusively if somebody else didn't remind me to eat something else (or feed me)
13) I abhore panty lines. It is my mission in life to NEVER have panty lines.
Trouble with #13 is that my husband says some men think panty lines are very sexy.
What are your thoughts my few and fearless readers??
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Saved by the Bag (Boy)
I went to the grocery store today - um, yesterday when I actually post this.... which is not anything particularly interesting except for the fact I finally got dinged playing...
"enough money for groceries roulette"
Here's how the game goes. You only take enough money for groceries and your keys into the store so you can travel light. You do not take a credit card for fear you will spend too much and this will keep you in check. Oh and no cell phone so you don't end up in conversations with dramatic friends that might be too interesting to bloggers who eavesdrop and will use your conversations for future writings.
Yes. I'm THAT good (uh, normally.)
I should so totally play The Price Is Right.
I went in today strictly observing the rules. Had $140 in my pocket. Period. No purse, no cell, no credit card. No cheating!!
I figured I didn't have to watch it too close since normally I play with only $100.
Got up to the cashier... ring... ring... ring... It's like coming up to $170!!! OH NO! oh okay, give bonus card number (whew)... that's one of those discount card things where they can track your movements if the CIA needs to follow you for any reason. And it comes dooowwwnnnn toooooo.....
$140 aaaaand...
seventy six cents!!!
As I sheepishly smiled to the clerk that I would have to go to the car to get the remaining amount, the bagboy began to laugh at me and handed the clerk the final seventy six cents.
I thanked him profusely, and asked if he would take my groceries to the car then I would settle the debt. I was almost too embarrassed to look him in the eye as I handed him the change.
The boy deserves a medal of honor in my book.
"enough money for groceries roulette"
Here's how the game goes. You only take enough money for groceries and your keys into the store so you can travel light. You do not take a credit card for fear you will spend too much and this will keep you in check. Oh and no cell phone so you don't end up in conversations with dramatic friends that might be too interesting to bloggers who eavesdrop and will use your conversations for future writings.
Yes. I'm THAT good (uh, normally.)
I should so totally play The Price Is Right.
I went in today strictly observing the rules. Had $140 in my pocket. Period. No purse, no cell, no credit card. No cheating!!
I figured I didn't have to watch it too close since normally I play with only $100.
Got up to the cashier... ring... ring... ring... It's like coming up to $170!!! OH NO! oh okay, give bonus card number (whew)... that's one of those discount card things where they can track your movements if the CIA needs to follow you for any reason. And it comes dooowwwnnnn toooooo.....
$140 aaaaand...
seventy six cents!!!
As I sheepishly smiled to the clerk that I would have to go to the car to get the remaining amount, the bagboy began to laugh at me and handed the clerk the final seventy six cents.
I thanked him profusely, and asked if he would take my groceries to the car then I would settle the debt. I was almost too embarrassed to look him in the eye as I handed him the change.
The boy deserves a medal of honor in my book.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
And lived to tell about it...
I read a post on another blog about someone hitting themselves in the head with a vaccuum cleaner. It made me think about a little incident that happened to my husband right after we got married...
It was November 1990, and we had been married oh, maybe 2 or 3 weeks. My husband was really big into watching boxing (back when it was interesting) and we had planned a little get together at our house to have a bonfire and some beer and watch the fight on pay-per-view.
So hubby gets the fire going and the guys are down at the fire drinking beer and cooking the dawgs and everyone is having a pretty good time. Nothing much to report so far.
This is the point of the story where I have to interject that at the time, we were heating our home with a wood stove, and my husband wouldn't use a chainsaw to cut the wood - his preference was a little more, well, manual.
Apparently, they got bored down there, and some brain surgeon in the group decided they should have a wood-chopping contest (with alcohol involved - a very bright decision indeed.) Well, the first guy does his thing, and then my husband is up to bat.
This is the next point to interject - my husband chops wood at an angle for some reason - to this day I do not know why.
Well, he hit a bump in the wood... and the AX bounces UP and hits him square in the center of his forehead.
If you know anything about head wounds, they bleed PROFUSELY. Little known fact - wrestlers use small razor blades to put tiny little cuts on themselves on the hairline to make it look like they have been mortally wounded. (useless fact for the day thank you...)
So at this point hubby realizes he has A PROBLEM - except his friends, instead of running up to get me, nearly pass out at the profusion of blood coming from hubby's head.
Weh-yul, Hubby decides to come up to the house himself before he might pass out - he grabs the dog's blanket and holds it on his head and comes into the back door looking like a chainsaw murder victim - blood is just POURING down his face and says:
"Honey, don't worry, but I just hit my self in the head with an AX"
I'm good. Really.
So being very young, and also having imbibed a bit myself (very good for the decision making process I tell you), I panicked. Hubby, being the stable one in the group says - "Call the Ask-A-Nurse hotline - quick!!!" Our hospital system at the time had set up a 1-800 number to cut down on superfluous 911 calls - so here we were putting it to good use....
Here is a transcription to the best of my recollection:
AAN "Hello"
ME "My husband just hit himself in the head with an AX. What do we do?"
AAN "An AX???"
ME "Yes. An AX."
AAN " Are you sure?"
ME "YES."
AAN "Did he hit with the sharp side or the blunt side?"
ME "Uh, the sharp side"
AAN "Is there bleeding"
ME "Oooohhhh Yeah....."
AAN " how much"
ME "Um, A LOT"
ME "Do you think he'll need stiches?"
AAN "Ma'am you need to call 911"
ME "Why?"
AAN "Ma'am please. Call 911."
ME "But he doesn't want to go!" Hubby did NOT want to leave his pay-per-view!!
AAN "Ma'am you reaaaallllyy neeed to call 911"
ME "...I think he can wait, he wants to watch his boxing match before going anywhere - can you just tell me how to stop the bleeding until then?"
AAN : CLICK
ME : "BITCH!!!"
Needless to say, that hotline didn't really last very long. And thankfully, while I was on the phone, one of the more lucid of the ladies there got my hubby cleaned up enough to discover that he only had a 1 inch cut square on the center of his forehead on the hairline (down to the bone - yuck!). So she drove me up to the CVS to get some butterfly closures and we doctored him up right there. To this day, you can barely see the scar.
Ours is a perfect marriage, I spend all my time trying to keep him physically intact, and he spends his time trying to keep me mentally intact.
It was November 1990, and we had been married oh, maybe 2 or 3 weeks. My husband was really big into watching boxing (back when it was interesting) and we had planned a little get together at our house to have a bonfire and some beer and watch the fight on pay-per-view.
So hubby gets the fire going and the guys are down at the fire drinking beer and cooking the dawgs and everyone is having a pretty good time. Nothing much to report so far.
This is the point of the story where I have to interject that at the time, we were heating our home with a wood stove, and my husband wouldn't use a chainsaw to cut the wood - his preference was a little more, well, manual.
Apparently, they got bored down there, and some brain surgeon in the group decided they should have a wood-chopping contest (with alcohol involved - a very bright decision indeed.) Well, the first guy does his thing, and then my husband is up to bat.
This is the next point to interject - my husband chops wood at an angle for some reason - to this day I do not know why.
Well, he hit a bump in the wood... and the AX bounces UP and hits him square in the center of his forehead.
If you know anything about head wounds, they bleed PROFUSELY. Little known fact - wrestlers use small razor blades to put tiny little cuts on themselves on the hairline to make it look like they have been mortally wounded. (useless fact for the day thank you...)
So at this point hubby realizes he has A PROBLEM - except his friends, instead of running up to get me, nearly pass out at the profusion of blood coming from hubby's head.
Weh-yul, Hubby decides to come up to the house himself before he might pass out - he grabs the dog's blanket and holds it on his head and comes into the back door looking like a chainsaw murder victim - blood is just POURING down his face and says:
"Honey, don't worry, but I just hit my self in the head with an AX"
I'm good. Really.
So being very young, and also having imbibed a bit myself (very good for the decision making process I tell you), I panicked. Hubby, being the stable one in the group says - "Call the Ask-A-Nurse hotline - quick!!!" Our hospital system at the time had set up a 1-800 number to cut down on superfluous 911 calls - so here we were putting it to good use....
Here is a transcription to the best of my recollection:
AAN "Hello"
ME "My husband just hit himself in the head with an AX. What do we do?"
AAN "An AX???"
ME "Yes. An AX."
AAN " Are you sure?"
ME "YES."
AAN "Did he hit with the sharp side or the blunt side?"
ME "Uh, the sharp side"
AAN "Is there bleeding"
ME "Oooohhhh Yeah....."
AAN " how much"
ME "Um, A LOT"
ME "Do you think he'll need stiches?"
AAN "Ma'am you need to call 911"
ME "Why?"
AAN "Ma'am please. Call 911."
ME "But he doesn't want to go!" Hubby did NOT want to leave his pay-per-view!!
AAN "Ma'am you reaaaallllyy neeed to call 911"
ME "...I think he can wait, he wants to watch his boxing match before going anywhere - can you just tell me how to stop the bleeding until then?"
AAN : CLICK
ME : "BITCH!!!"
Needless to say, that hotline didn't really last very long. And thankfully, while I was on the phone, one of the more lucid of the ladies there got my hubby cleaned up enough to discover that he only had a 1 inch cut square on the center of his forehead on the hairline (down to the bone - yuck!). So she drove me up to the CVS to get some butterfly closures and we doctored him up right there. To this day, you can barely see the scar.
Ours is a perfect marriage, I spend all my time trying to keep him physically intact, and he spends his time trying to keep me mentally intact.
Friday, February 16, 2007
I know yer nosey...
I think we, as human beings, are inherently nosey. That is apparent from reality tv. We'll pretty much watch anything about anybody else, because well, we just want to be in other people's business.
I'm going to indulge you today. I had today off, as my kids got an extra day out of school, and I'm like, screw it(!) I want to be off too. (Although I'll probably wish I had the extra vacation day later in the year to spend...but, whatever)
Here's a run-down:
1. Get up at 9:30am because Gizmo makes me - she's hungry, and there's a brand new box of Fruity Pebbles waiting in the kitchen for her to try.
2. Fix cereal in a bag with some milk in a sippy cup for Gizmo. Turn on cartoons.
3. Lay back down for 20 min.
4. Get up cause my head is starting to hurt. Weird, but since I turned 40, if I sleep too much I get the biggest headaches ever!!
5. Get up and eat raisin bran. I felt guilty because I had eaten donuts for breakfast all week and had to ingest something healthy
6. Get on computer, answer email, catch up on pageant gossip, check blogs for inspiration and prowl ebay for a steal on a pageant casual wear for Gizmo
7. Do laundry, clean upstairs bathroom, clean Gizmo's room - of course, she immediately comes up and drags everything out to play with AFTER i clean it, but that's okay, at least she will play in her room with her toys!
8. Wake up Firstborn.
9. Argue with Firstborn about getting up and straightening up his room.
10. Do more laundry (I swear it BREEDs in the laundry room when I'm not looking)
11. Drink a coke and take ADD meds + migraine meds (oh so thankful to have ditched the antidepressent not too long ago)
12. Take shower - yell at Firstborn to take his, since the first 14 times I asked nicely were ignored...
13. piddle around after shower getting dressed etc
14. Get Gizmo ready
15. Have family meeting on where to eat (this takes about 30min)
16. Have long, long, leisurely lunch with kids at Mexican restaurant talking about school, and various other subjects - yes, I had a margarita too!!! So there!
17. Go to shoe repair place (I won't get rid of shoes until they've been worn through at least ONE re-soling)
18. Go to alterationist - I also will repair clothes that I especially like... plus my kids are so skinny that I have to take everything to have the waist taken in
19. Go to Best Buy - purchase Hello Kitty speakers for my iPod, and iTunes card for Firstborn
- kids try to talk me into a bling skin my my nano, but I figure I can get one later
20. Pick up dry cleaning
22. Go to bakery and have cookies and milk, except Firstborn who only wants a soda
23. Go to Mall - argue with kids all the way through since by now Firstborn and Gizmo have reached fever pitch annoyance with each other - threaten to kill on contact if they continue
24. Try to buy clothes for Firstborn, he won't pick anything - even took him to Abercrombie and all he would do is bitch about how "embarrassing" his sister was being. (she was dancing to the music in Abercrombie - it was quite a show)
25. Try to shop some more for Firstborn at a couple other stores but he just wasn't interested.
26. Give up and take Gizmo to build-a-bear for a toy, but only if she promises to get rid of 3 toys she doesn't play with - select ADORABLE shamrock bear, with one outfit
27. Hubby calls, Firstborn's best friend is spending the night and he's already picked him up
28. Come home, pick up hubby, go out to eat at Cracker Barrell
29. Return from dinner, try out HK speakers and switch the laundry
30. Give Gizmo snack and let her watch cartoons while I post a blog
31. Will read Gizmo a story, put her to bed and then myself. btw... Hubby takes care of dealing with the boys - they'll probably be hitting golf balls in the basement until somebody drops of exhaustion - we have a room set up with a net and everything...
Exciting huh?
The biggest issue I had today involved a coat at the mall. I know I'm going to offend the anti-fur folks, but I wear a fur coat. I currently have a leather and Nutria coat I've been wearing 16 years, and although I get compliments all the time on it, it's just getting a little weary. Now most people get a fur and only wear it to church or weddings, but I WEAR mine. It IS my winter coat. I mean, why spend all that money on something and not use it regularly??? I finally found it's replacement at the fur sale... A pieced mink above the knee swing coat with an insane hood - I HAVE to HAVE it. Problem is it's $850 - I mean I paid $500 for the Nutria and wore it 16 years, I could get another 16 out of this one easy. I just can't make a quick decision on spending that kind of money... So that's what I'm sleeping on tonight. To get the coat or not. I would have been just fine if I hadn't seen it; you can't miss what you don't have - but damn it was a fine coat. It was just so, well, ME.
Ugh. Yet another silly thing to waste brain time on.
p.s. Don't feel bad for Firstborn that he didn't get too much today - last night all $700 of his new Nike golf clubs and bag came in - in preparation for golf tryouts in 2 weeks. Oh they are wicked cool - we'll see how he does with them...
I'm going to indulge you today. I had today off, as my kids got an extra day out of school, and I'm like, screw it(!) I want to be off too. (Although I'll probably wish I had the extra vacation day later in the year to spend...but, whatever)
Here's a run-down:
1. Get up at 9:30am because Gizmo makes me - she's hungry, and there's a brand new box of Fruity Pebbles waiting in the kitchen for her to try.
2. Fix cereal in a bag with some milk in a sippy cup for Gizmo. Turn on cartoons.
3. Lay back down for 20 min.
4. Get up cause my head is starting to hurt. Weird, but since I turned 40, if I sleep too much I get the biggest headaches ever!!
5. Get up and eat raisin bran. I felt guilty because I had eaten donuts for breakfast all week and had to ingest something healthy
6. Get on computer, answer email, catch up on pageant gossip, check blogs for inspiration and prowl ebay for a steal on a pageant casual wear for Gizmo
7. Do laundry, clean upstairs bathroom, clean Gizmo's room - of course, she immediately comes up and drags everything out to play with AFTER i clean it, but that's okay, at least she will play in her room with her toys!
8. Wake up Firstborn.
9. Argue with Firstborn about getting up and straightening up his room.
10. Do more laundry (I swear it BREEDs in the laundry room when I'm not looking)
11. Drink a coke and take ADD meds + migraine meds (oh so thankful to have ditched the antidepressent not too long ago)
12. Take shower - yell at Firstborn to take his, since the first 14 times I asked nicely were ignored...
13. piddle around after shower getting dressed etc
14. Get Gizmo ready
15. Have family meeting on where to eat (this takes about 30min)
16. Have long, long, leisurely lunch with kids at Mexican restaurant talking about school, and various other subjects - yes, I had a margarita too!!! So there!
17. Go to shoe repair place (I won't get rid of shoes until they've been worn through at least ONE re-soling)
18. Go to alterationist - I also will repair clothes that I especially like... plus my kids are so skinny that I have to take everything to have the waist taken in
19. Go to Best Buy - purchase Hello Kitty speakers for my iPod, and iTunes card for Firstborn
- kids try to talk me into a bling skin my my nano, but I figure I can get one later
20. Pick up dry cleaning
22. Go to bakery and have cookies and milk, except Firstborn who only wants a soda
23. Go to Mall - argue with kids all the way through since by now Firstborn and Gizmo have reached fever pitch annoyance with each other - threaten to kill on contact if they continue
24. Try to buy clothes for Firstborn, he won't pick anything - even took him to Abercrombie and all he would do is bitch about how "embarrassing" his sister was being. (she was dancing to the music in Abercrombie - it was quite a show)
25. Try to shop some more for Firstborn at a couple other stores but he just wasn't interested.
26. Give up and take Gizmo to build-a-bear for a toy, but only if she promises to get rid of 3 toys she doesn't play with - select ADORABLE shamrock bear, with one outfit
27. Hubby calls, Firstborn's best friend is spending the night and he's already picked him up
28. Come home, pick up hubby, go out to eat at Cracker Barrell
29. Return from dinner, try out HK speakers and switch the laundry
30. Give Gizmo snack and let her watch cartoons while I post a blog
31. Will read Gizmo a story, put her to bed and then myself. btw... Hubby takes care of dealing with the boys - they'll probably be hitting golf balls in the basement until somebody drops of exhaustion - we have a room set up with a net and everything...
Exciting huh?
The biggest issue I had today involved a coat at the mall. I know I'm going to offend the anti-fur folks, but I wear a fur coat. I currently have a leather and Nutria coat I've been wearing 16 years, and although I get compliments all the time on it, it's just getting a little weary. Now most people get a fur and only wear it to church or weddings, but I WEAR mine. It IS my winter coat. I mean, why spend all that money on something and not use it regularly??? I finally found it's replacement at the fur sale... A pieced mink above the knee swing coat with an insane hood - I HAVE to HAVE it. Problem is it's $850 - I mean I paid $500 for the Nutria and wore it 16 years, I could get another 16 out of this one easy. I just can't make a quick decision on spending that kind of money... So that's what I'm sleeping on tonight. To get the coat or not. I would have been just fine if I hadn't seen it; you can't miss what you don't have - but damn it was a fine coat. It was just so, well, ME.
Ugh. Yet another silly thing to waste brain time on.
p.s. Don't feel bad for Firstborn that he didn't get too much today - last night all $700 of his new Nike golf clubs and bag came in - in preparation for golf tryouts in 2 weeks. Oh they are wicked cool - we'll see how he does with them...
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Ok - I shall officially declare myself stupid
I apologize for yesterday's post. Apparently, the mixture of still not feeling well, Valentine's day sucking the big one, and I was PMS-ing... BAD. I did email said offender, and it appears I accidentally hit the trash can...
MYSELF.
sorry (I'm feeling pretty small right now)
MYSELF.
sorry (I'm feeling pretty small right now)
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Heartbroken on valentine's day
Okay, so Valentine's is a bust all the way around.
I don't feel well, so hubby and I decided the weekend would be much easier to celebrate when I felt better and bedtimes and homework didn't get in the way. I can't sleep too well either so I'm up doing something that WAS fun...
But my heart has been broken by someone I wouldn't know if they hit me over the head with a chainsaw.
My feelings are deeply hurt because somebody doesn't want to be seen with me.
I made a post about playgroups & disco on a post of creative-type dad's blog.
http://creativetypes.blogspot.com/
and he deleted it. Probably because I mentioned our next pageant has a Disco Theme.
I figured sooner or later it would happen, with a name like pageant mom, but I didn't think it would hurt so much. He could have been POLITE and asked me not to post anymore.
I didn't post anything ugly or mean!!!
What would you do?
:o(
....Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
p.s. strep was a false alarm, but it didn't make my painful sore throat ANY better confirming at the doc's it wasn't strep - apparently sinus problems can make you feel just as bad...
I don't feel well, so hubby and I decided the weekend would be much easier to celebrate when I felt better and bedtimes and homework didn't get in the way. I can't sleep too well either so I'm up doing something that WAS fun...
But my heart has been broken by someone I wouldn't know if they hit me over the head with a chainsaw.
My feelings are deeply hurt because somebody doesn't want to be seen with me.
I made a post about playgroups & disco on a post of creative-type dad's blog.
http://creativetypes.blogspot.com/
and he deleted it. Probably because I mentioned our next pageant has a Disco Theme.
I figured sooner or later it would happen, with a name like pageant mom, but I didn't think it would hurt so much. He could have been POLITE and asked me not to post anymore.
I didn't post anything ugly or mean!!!
What would you do?
:o(
....Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
p.s. strep was a false alarm, but it didn't make my painful sore throat ANY better confirming at the doc's it wasn't strep - apparently sinus problems can make you feel just as bad...
Monday, February 12, 2007
Trying to update
I'm coming down with strep throat...I'm working on my links, so if I haven't added you yet (ya'll know who you are) , I just ran out of steam... I FEEL LIKE CRAP and fading fast. I just want to be sure nobody's feelings get hurt in the meantime...
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Waxing Sentimental
We just got back from our annual ski trip this past week. It's tradition that every year we go to the slopes for Superbowl weekend.
I have found the ipod to be quite revolutionary to my skiing.
Here are my conclusions for favorite songs to ski by:
Green slopes:
H.A.P.P.Y Radio by Edwin Starr (Album Disco Gold ;o)
Glamorous Life by Sheila E
They're playing our Song by Trinere
Hella Good by No Doubt
(uh oh, my age is showing)
Blue Slopes:
Surrender by Cheap Trick
Vengence by Garmarna
Jam the Box by Pretty Tony (very 80's stuff)
Planet Rock by Old School Players (early hip hop so very 80's)
...update - I forgot to add Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones last night when I originally posted!
Black Slopes:
Cry by Tesla
Symphony of Destruction by Megadeath
I'm not Okay by My Chemical Romance
Bump by Rehab
Which brings me to wax sentimental about the first time I ever attempted to ski.
I was on the cusp of turning 30, and wanderlust was setting in. I had an 18 month old toddler, and frankly, was not feeling so hot about myself and was really not liking feeling locked to just working and child rearing. This is not usually a good thing for me because my sense of adventure and my sense of mortality get tangled up when this happens and it can lead to some very odd circumstances.
I thought to myself, "Self..." pregnant pause... "...we must do something fabulous!!"
Skiing is what fabulous, rich people do, so we must try it. Let's shake things up a bit!!! Besides, they generally have day care and ski schools for kiddies so we could do this as a family outing some day!!!
So, not having a clue, I bleached the crap out of my hair, then I booked a 5 night, 6 day ski trip to Killington, Vermont. I thought well really, how hard could it be? You just slap on a couple of sticks and slide down a hill....
For those of YOU who have no clue. Killington is the most badassest mountain of the East Coast. Who knew? I sure as hell didn't. That said, I went SHOPPING. Oh, I bought a fabulous purple bunny suit, complete with fur collar and fancy headband. I got the c-a-utest gloves to match, and of course some bitchin' sunglasses to finish the look. My husband got some bibs, and a beanie, and a jacket.
So we get to our inn - a wonderful, quaint little place with cardboard for walls and packed with half of the population of Newark, New Jersey. There were like, 10 people staying in the room next to us, and they would NOT shut up all night until about 3a.m. when my inner Redneck kicked in and I went to bang on THEIR door screaming for them to shut the hell up. It is customary for my husband to look away and simply pray at these moments (and prep for cleanup.) So needless to say, I was not starting out at my personal best on the first day.
So we take our gear and I head to the bunny slopes. I have my fabulous outfit on, and I am just so very Heidi of the Swiss Alps with my braids and cute headband and fabulous look. Hubby is not amused and insists that the green slope will be just fine for me and that the bunny slopes are a waste of time. So up we go. So on the lift he is instructing me on how to dismount, and do the "pizza" or "wedge" to come off the lift. I was okay for about 3 seconds until I did a customary face plant coming down the hill off the lift. Think penquins on a waterslide. .................Pause for VISUAL................. Okay. So after about 10 runs of plowing in a significantly ungraceful posture down the green slope Hubby says we should go down the mountain. But there were a few small caveats.
1) Unbeknownst to me - green, blue, and black level designations at ski destinations are not STANDARD. They are relative to that particular mountain. And this was a particularly difficult mountain.
2) The winds had been getting up that day, and they were only running limited lifts and opening selected slopes at the top of the mountain.
3) Everyone at the resort that day had been skiing since they were embryos, and they were bowling for Southerners as well...
4) Hubby could actually SKI. I didn't really understand this when we got there, but when I mentioned that he appeared to be experienced, and asked why he didn't tell me he was a good skier, he replied "you didn't ask." (you gotta love my man of few words - and no, we really didn't talk much about the trip before going, he pretty much lets me take care of everything then he shows up to drive, cart luggage, and provide amicable company.)
So we get down to the quad lift. Shouldn't we check to see if the green slope is open. "NO" states hubby, "they wouldn't close the green slope." Are you sure??? "YES." aggravation apparent "Just get on the lift." Are you really sure?? "Get on the..." Okay, Okay...
Up we go.
When we reached the top (you gotta love East Coast skiing) the entire stretch of slope was solid ice. The wind was blowing so hard it would move you along the area completely involuntarily.
The Green slope was closed.
So I did what any self-respecting woman would do.
I began to CRY.
So Hubby scoots down to bottom of hill and insists that I come along too. So off we go..... I immediately fell at the bottom of the first hump - not graceful or pretty or anything - but something akin to laying a turtle on its back... I fell backwards with my skis up under me, knees down and forward, feet pointed toward flattened backside. I was STUCK.
So now I'm laid out like an oyster on the half shell, with people literally jumping over me, slobbering like a St. Bernard and my face starting to freeze from the tears and goo emanating from my deteriorating, terrified self. Oh and in case you didn't know, ski patrol won't help you down if you're afraid, they only help you down if you're like, mortally wounded...
A nice individual from out of nowhere eventually came up behind me, lifted me from under my armpits and shoved me down the hill. Which was fine but in order to make sure I didn't miss the 90 degree turn at the bottom of the hill (to make the turn meant you would LIVE... to not make the turn meant sure and instant DEATH off the side of the mountain.) So I ended up embedded in the side of the trail where they had scooped out the snow for the slope. Kind of like the character Two Face in the Batman sagas - one half in the snow frozen, the other poking out desperately waving for somebody to help.
Ohhh, I'm having so much FUN!!! >o( Um.... NOT!
I spit, swore, clawed, sat on my fanny and slid, picked, stepped, cried, panicked, rinsed, repeated ALL THE WAY DOWN THAT DAMN mountain. I looked at my husband when we finally reached the bottom (I'm pretty sure it took me about 4 hours) and said:
"I am GOING to THE BAR. YOU DO WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT TO!!!!!"
Minus one braid, with one side of my bunny suit torn, one glove on - one lost, mascara running down my face, and one sorely bruised bum and one sorely bruised ego. I took myself to the bar and had about eight Singapore Slings. I felt much better after that.
The next day I took a lesson.
To this day, I'm sure if I hadn't had four more days of lift tickets, I'd have quit right there on the spot.
I have since ditched the whole fashion thing, and now I opt for the international terrorist look. It tends to be considerably more functional for kicking butt on badass mountains now and is way more functional. Although I did buy some really funky periwinkle and white polka dot goggles this trip to make me the coolest mom on the mountain...
I have found the ipod to be quite revolutionary to my skiing.
Here are my conclusions for favorite songs to ski by:
Green slopes:
H.A.P.P.Y Radio by Edwin Starr (Album Disco Gold ;o)
Glamorous Life by Sheila E
They're playing our Song by Trinere
Hella Good by No Doubt
(uh oh, my age is showing)
Blue Slopes:
Surrender by Cheap Trick
Vengence by Garmarna
Jam the Box by Pretty Tony (very 80's stuff)
Planet Rock by Old School Players (early hip hop so very 80's)
...update - I forgot to add Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones last night when I originally posted!
Black Slopes:
Cry by Tesla
Symphony of Destruction by Megadeath
I'm not Okay by My Chemical Romance
Bump by Rehab
Which brings me to wax sentimental about the first time I ever attempted to ski.
I was on the cusp of turning 30, and wanderlust was setting in. I had an 18 month old toddler, and frankly, was not feeling so hot about myself and was really not liking feeling locked to just working and child rearing. This is not usually a good thing for me because my sense of adventure and my sense of mortality get tangled up when this happens and it can lead to some very odd circumstances.
I thought to myself, "Self..." pregnant pause... "...we must do something fabulous!!"
Skiing is what fabulous, rich people do, so we must try it. Let's shake things up a bit!!! Besides, they generally have day care and ski schools for kiddies so we could do this as a family outing some day!!!
So, not having a clue, I bleached the crap out of my hair, then I booked a 5 night, 6 day ski trip to Killington, Vermont. I thought well really, how hard could it be? You just slap on a couple of sticks and slide down a hill....
For those of YOU who have no clue. Killington is the most badassest mountain of the East Coast. Who knew? I sure as hell didn't. That said, I went SHOPPING. Oh, I bought a fabulous purple bunny suit, complete with fur collar and fancy headband. I got the c-a-utest gloves to match, and of course some bitchin' sunglasses to finish the look. My husband got some bibs, and a beanie, and a jacket.
So we get to our inn - a wonderful, quaint little place with cardboard for walls and packed with half of the population of Newark, New Jersey. There were like, 10 people staying in the room next to us, and they would NOT shut up all night until about 3a.m. when my inner Redneck kicked in and I went to bang on THEIR door screaming for them to shut the hell up. It is customary for my husband to look away and simply pray at these moments (and prep for cleanup.) So needless to say, I was not starting out at my personal best on the first day.
So we take our gear and I head to the bunny slopes. I have my fabulous outfit on, and I am just so very Heidi of the Swiss Alps with my braids and cute headband and fabulous look. Hubby is not amused and insists that the green slope will be just fine for me and that the bunny slopes are a waste of time. So up we go. So on the lift he is instructing me on how to dismount, and do the "pizza" or "wedge" to come off the lift. I was okay for about 3 seconds until I did a customary face plant coming down the hill off the lift. Think penquins on a waterslide. .................Pause for VISUAL................. Okay. So after about 10 runs of plowing in a significantly ungraceful posture down the green slope Hubby says we should go down the mountain. But there were a few small caveats.
1) Unbeknownst to me - green, blue, and black level designations at ski destinations are not STANDARD. They are relative to that particular mountain. And this was a particularly difficult mountain.
2) The winds had been getting up that day, and they were only running limited lifts and opening selected slopes at the top of the mountain.
3) Everyone at the resort that day had been skiing since they were embryos, and they were bowling for Southerners as well...
4) Hubby could actually SKI. I didn't really understand this when we got there, but when I mentioned that he appeared to be experienced, and asked why he didn't tell me he was a good skier, he replied "you didn't ask." (you gotta love my man of few words - and no, we really didn't talk much about the trip before going, he pretty much lets me take care of everything then he shows up to drive, cart luggage, and provide amicable company.)
So we get down to the quad lift. Shouldn't we check to see if the green slope is open. "NO" states hubby, "they wouldn't close the green slope." Are you sure??? "YES." aggravation apparent "Just get on the lift." Are you really sure?? "Get on the..." Okay, Okay...
Up we go.
When we reached the top (you gotta love East Coast skiing) the entire stretch of slope was solid ice. The wind was blowing so hard it would move you along the area completely involuntarily.
The Green slope was closed.
So I did what any self-respecting woman would do.
I began to CRY.
So Hubby scoots down to bottom of hill and insists that I come along too. So off we go..... I immediately fell at the bottom of the first hump - not graceful or pretty or anything - but something akin to laying a turtle on its back... I fell backwards with my skis up under me, knees down and forward, feet pointed toward flattened backside. I was STUCK.
So now I'm laid out like an oyster on the half shell, with people literally jumping over me, slobbering like a St. Bernard and my face starting to freeze from the tears and goo emanating from my deteriorating, terrified self. Oh and in case you didn't know, ski patrol won't help you down if you're afraid, they only help you down if you're like, mortally wounded...
A nice individual from out of nowhere eventually came up behind me, lifted me from under my armpits and shoved me down the hill. Which was fine but in order to make sure I didn't miss the 90 degree turn at the bottom of the hill (to make the turn meant you would LIVE... to not make the turn meant sure and instant DEATH off the side of the mountain.) So I ended up embedded in the side of the trail where they had scooped out the snow for the slope. Kind of like the character Two Face in the Batman sagas - one half in the snow frozen, the other poking out desperately waving for somebody to help.
Ohhh, I'm having so much FUN!!! >o( Um.... NOT!
I spit, swore, clawed, sat on my fanny and slid, picked, stepped, cried, panicked, rinsed, repeated ALL THE WAY DOWN THAT DAMN mountain. I looked at my husband when we finally reached the bottom (I'm pretty sure it took me about 4 hours) and said:
"I am GOING to THE BAR. YOU DO WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT TO!!!!!"
Minus one braid, with one side of my bunny suit torn, one glove on - one lost, mascara running down my face, and one sorely bruised bum and one sorely bruised ego. I took myself to the bar and had about eight Singapore Slings. I felt much better after that.
The next day I took a lesson.
To this day, I'm sure if I hadn't had four more days of lift tickets, I'd have quit right there on the spot.
I have since ditched the whole fashion thing, and now I opt for the international terrorist look. It tends to be considerably more functional for kicking butt on badass mountains now and is way more functional. Although I did buy some really funky periwinkle and white polka dot goggles this trip to make me the coolest mom on the mountain...
Thursday, February 08, 2007
I'm a VICTIM I tell you!!! A VIC-TUUUUUM!!!!
I know this is hard to believe.
But I am a victim of profiling.
Soda profiling.
Now, just because I'm not going with the norm is no reason to single me out.
I just don't like diet drinks. I like Coke. Not Pepsi. Not Diet Pepsi. Just Coke. And only Coke (except for every morning at work and that's an AMP but that's a completely different blog subject.) And especially NOT DIET Coke!!! But invariably, no matter who I go to breakfast, lunch, or dinner with, I either GET the diet drink intended for the other parties (no matter if they are male or female) or my REFILL will show up as a DIET Coke. When I bring it to a wait person's attention that they brought me the diet drink errantly, they look at me like:
"sowhat'sthedifferenceeverybodyelseinthefreeworlddrinksityoumoronIreally don'twanttogobackandfixit ...."
I didn't think I was fat, but this is starting to give me a bigger complex than I already have. I think I know how poor Tyra Banks feels now (which incidentally I think she looks just FINE at her current disputed size!!!) Or maybe I just have that Gap Khaki, Diet Coke drinking, Mini-Van driving, Soccer Mom look. ( I have SO got to fix that.)
Somebody get me a lawyer....
But I am a victim of profiling.
Soda profiling.
Now, just because I'm not going with the norm is no reason to single me out.
I just don't like diet drinks. I like Coke. Not Pepsi. Not Diet Pepsi. Just Coke. And only Coke (except for every morning at work and that's an AMP but that's a completely different blog subject.) And especially NOT DIET Coke!!! But invariably, no matter who I go to breakfast, lunch, or dinner with, I either GET the diet drink intended for the other parties (no matter if they are male or female) or my REFILL will show up as a DIET Coke. When I bring it to a wait person's attention that they brought me the diet drink errantly, they look at me like:
"sowhat'sthedifferenceeverybodyelseinthefreeworlddrinksityoumoronIreally don'twanttogobackandfixit ...."
I didn't think I was fat, but this is starting to give me a bigger complex than I already have. I think I know how poor Tyra Banks feels now (which incidentally I think she looks just FINE at her current disputed size!!!) Or maybe I just have that Gap Khaki, Diet Coke drinking, Mini-Van driving, Soccer Mom look. ( I have SO got to fix that.)
Somebody get me a lawyer....
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Thanks Mom!!!
I don't talk much about Firstborn in my blogs, because most of the time, I'm not sure what to say... He's a walking case of tween hormones, perpetually perturbed, never available, emotionally volatile and basically your average, normal 12 year old boy. And he lives a pretty routine life, except for the fact that it takes a piledriver in his face to do anything more than the absolute bare minimum on ANYTHING.
So I thought it funny when he came to me today and announced
"MOM!!! I got a 94 on my Science Fair Project!!!"
Well, You're welcome, baby. Don't mention it.
Now, I think it's pretty universally known that the annual science fair project is mainly homework hell for parents and if truth be known, to avoid utter ruin at the water cooler and in front of the PTA, many parents end up, well, taking over for the poor kid. It's just easier that way.
We, however, chose the HARD way.
I was bound and damned determined he was going to do the bloody thing himself - even if it ended up we hated each other for life (and then some.) I think if Firstborn had put as much energy into actually completing the project as he did in fighting doing it correctly the FIRST time, he could have cut his time by three quarters, and used the spare time to scratch his butt and work on a perfect burp (both of which have myteriously appeared as favorite activities in his repertoire of stuff he WANTS to do...) Here was the original opening sentence for his project introduction (un-censored so for those parents who are faint of heart, please stop reading now):
My project is about how music affects plants. That's pretty much what my project is about.
Um, maybe I'm asking too much, but I believe the correct description of the sentence (in a nutshell) is "half-ass."
You would have thought I'd asked him to memorize the entire unabridged version of Crime and Punishment when I asked him to please re-write that introduction (which, incidentally, didn't get any better from the first sentence...) Then came the tears, and the I hate you forever looks, etc and so on. It took an HOUR to get him to write a 250 words or less introduction suitable for public consumption. Then another hour (same process) to write the Analysis, then another for the Discussion, yet a-nother for the Title page (no kidding) etc.... He'd write, we'd send him back to re-write. Over, and over and over and over and over and over and over....
We helped him put his graphs together, but he had to design them. We helped him print the pictures, but he had to write the descriptions. And so on. My husband and I had to tag team the process - when one would get tired, the other would take over.
Aside from the 3 weeks of analysis on the plants - it took over 3 DAYS to drag the kid through completing what is now known as "the project never to be mentioned again" in our house.
You'd have thought from all the arguing and tears and threatening and begging and bribing one of us would have snapped (oh yeah, I forgot, I already did...) This kid was going to do MOST to ALL of this project over somebody's dead body. And I was pretty convinced it might be HIS the way he acted through the whole thing.
The icing on the cake: The project had to be turned in on Friday morning and the weather was a lovely freezing rain mixed with just the right amount of knock you down wind. I got out of the car to help him take his poster in (did I mention the poster was like, 6 by 4 feet in dimension?), since his arms were full and I didn't want the blessed pictures to get ruined in the weather.
You would have thought I proposed to walk into his class, strip naked, and proceed to belly dance in front of his class from his reaction. The unmentionable horror of having your (CHOKE! GASP!) mother HELP you take your stuff to class was more than he could bear. The look of sheer terror on his face was both maddening and priceless. I didn't know whether to smack him hard or just hug him to death.
Upon his announcement of success, I asked him if all the pain and suffering was worth the grade...
His reaction? Totally priceless.
"Um, I don't know what you're talking about... when's dinner?"
Please. Somebody. Tell me we're going to live through the next few years....
**********
p.s. His project was to prove if classical music would improve plant growth. Oddly enough, he had three subjects exposed to different variables: a) no music b) rock music c) classical. Call it weird, or lucky, but the classical music plant out grew the other plants by 2cm and actually started out .5 to 1 cm smaller than the other two plants at the beginning of the project. Who knew??
So I thought it funny when he came to me today and announced
"MOM!!! I got a 94 on my Science Fair Project!!!"
Well, You're welcome, baby. Don't mention it.
Now, I think it's pretty universally known that the annual science fair project is mainly homework hell for parents and if truth be known, to avoid utter ruin at the water cooler and in front of the PTA, many parents end up, well, taking over for the poor kid. It's just easier that way.
We, however, chose the HARD way.
I was bound and damned determined he was going to do the bloody thing himself - even if it ended up we hated each other for life (and then some.) I think if Firstborn had put as much energy into actually completing the project as he did in fighting doing it correctly the FIRST time, he could have cut his time by three quarters, and used the spare time to scratch his butt and work on a perfect burp (both of which have myteriously appeared as favorite activities in his repertoire of stuff he WANTS to do...) Here was the original opening sentence for his project introduction (un-censored so for those parents who are faint of heart, please stop reading now):
My project is about how music affects plants. That's pretty much what my project is about.
Um, maybe I'm asking too much, but I believe the correct description of the sentence (in a nutshell) is "half-ass."
You would have thought I'd asked him to memorize the entire unabridged version of Crime and Punishment when I asked him to please re-write that introduction (which, incidentally, didn't get any better from the first sentence...) Then came the tears, and the I hate you forever looks, etc and so on. It took an HOUR to get him to write a 250 words or less introduction suitable for public consumption. Then another hour (same process) to write the Analysis, then another for the Discussion, yet a-nother for the Title page (no kidding) etc.... He'd write, we'd send him back to re-write. Over, and over and over and over and over and over and over....
We helped him put his graphs together, but he had to design them. We helped him print the pictures, but he had to write the descriptions. And so on. My husband and I had to tag team the process - when one would get tired, the other would take over.
Aside from the 3 weeks of analysis on the plants - it took over 3 DAYS to drag the kid through completing what is now known as "the project never to be mentioned again" in our house.
You'd have thought from all the arguing and tears and threatening and begging and bribing one of us would have snapped (oh yeah, I forgot, I already did...) This kid was going to do MOST to ALL of this project over somebody's dead body. And I was pretty convinced it might be HIS the way he acted through the whole thing.
The icing on the cake: The project had to be turned in on Friday morning and the weather was a lovely freezing rain mixed with just the right amount of knock you down wind. I got out of the car to help him take his poster in (did I mention the poster was like, 6 by 4 feet in dimension?), since his arms were full and I didn't want the blessed pictures to get ruined in the weather.
You would have thought I proposed to walk into his class, strip naked, and proceed to belly dance in front of his class from his reaction. The unmentionable horror of having your (CHOKE! GASP!) mother HELP you take your stuff to class was more than he could bear. The look of sheer terror on his face was both maddening and priceless. I didn't know whether to smack him hard or just hug him to death.
Upon his announcement of success, I asked him if all the pain and suffering was worth the grade...
His reaction? Totally priceless.
"Um, I don't know what you're talking about... when's dinner?"
Please. Somebody. Tell me we're going to live through the next few years....
**********
p.s. His project was to prove if classical music would improve plant growth. Oddly enough, he had three subjects exposed to different variables: a) no music b) rock music c) classical. Call it weird, or lucky, but the classical music plant out grew the other plants by 2cm and actually started out .5 to 1 cm smaller than the other two plants at the beginning of the project. Who knew??
Thursday, February 01, 2007
War of the Mommybloggers ;o)
What is it they say? Oh, I believe the correct term is ROTFL...MY....ASS...OFF
Apparently the media has pissed off the wrong Mommys...um...LOL
I think it is terribly ironic and poignant that the same blogger/journalist who got me started in blogging because of her one-sided, misinformed, twisted and taken completely out of context observation on pageants, is now in an uproar because the media is presenting a one-sided, misinformed, twisted and taken completely out of context observation on a playgroup where the mothers have a glass of wine.
To quote:
"It's just another media-generated battle pitting mommy against mommy and frankly, I'm getting tired of it."
I really couldn't have said it better myself.
Um, where was this thought process when it was fun to bash the pageant moms? You called my baby a mini harlot, and that was okay... but now Meredith Veira implies that these mothers could be potential drunks and hazards to their children and that's an outrage? Frankly, I don't see the difference in what is done to pageant mothers and what is going on here.
"This is taken out of context!!!" a pageant mom has exclaimed. Detractors of pageants ignore the cry - it couldn't possibly be taken out of context, the media is soooo upstanding...
"We spend time with our children and we're not harming them. We're having fun!" a pageant mom has exclaimed. An implication of child abuse is implied in return.
"We get together and let our kids play!" the pageant moms cry! "Oh, but your child could never possibly have a REAL childhood in pageants..." sayeth the detractors.
"I'm not harming my child - she's having fun, we're having sleepovers and going swimming at the hotel and winning toys (otherwise she wouldn't be smiling)" retorts the pageant mothers.
.......
"I'm not harming my child, I'm just having a glass of wine..." retort the playgroup Mommys...
Aw sweet irony.
Frankly, I don't give a rat's rear end if a playgroup Mommy has a glass of wine with her friends while their kids run around the backyard. I think the media is just looking for another drummed up controversy. Kind of like kid pageants.
Yep, there are moms that take pageants too far. Hmmm, the story here has implied that moms who drink at a playgroup could take THAT too far and these Moms are upset at the implication. (Well, of course that could NEVER happen...)
I just think it's funny that they feel the need to DEFEND themselves, the very thing many of them have torn pageant moms a new one for doing.
HA HA HA..... HA!
(wha'd they expect? sympathy??? ....forgive me if I'm feeling a wee bit vindicated)
Apparently the media has pissed off the wrong Mommys...um...LOL
I think it is terribly ironic and poignant that the same blogger/journalist who got me started in blogging because of her one-sided, misinformed, twisted and taken completely out of context observation on pageants, is now in an uproar because the media is presenting a one-sided, misinformed, twisted and taken completely out of context observation on a playgroup where the mothers have a glass of wine.
To quote:
"It's just another media-generated battle pitting mommy against mommy and frankly, I'm getting tired of it."
I really couldn't have said it better myself.
Um, where was this thought process when it was fun to bash the pageant moms? You called my baby a mini harlot, and that was okay... but now Meredith Veira implies that these mothers could be potential drunks and hazards to their children and that's an outrage? Frankly, I don't see the difference in what is done to pageant mothers and what is going on here.
"This is taken out of context!!!" a pageant mom has exclaimed. Detractors of pageants ignore the cry - it couldn't possibly be taken out of context, the media is soooo upstanding...
"We spend time with our children and we're not harming them. We're having fun!" a pageant mom has exclaimed. An implication of child abuse is implied in return.
"We get together and let our kids play!" the pageant moms cry! "Oh, but your child could never possibly have a REAL childhood in pageants..." sayeth the detractors.
"I'm not harming my child - she's having fun, we're having sleepovers and going swimming at the hotel and winning toys (otherwise she wouldn't be smiling)" retorts the pageant mothers.
.......
"I'm not harming my child, I'm just having a glass of wine..." retort the playgroup Mommys...
Aw sweet irony.
Frankly, I don't give a rat's rear end if a playgroup Mommy has a glass of wine with her friends while their kids run around the backyard. I think the media is just looking for another drummed up controversy. Kind of like kid pageants.
Yep, there are moms that take pageants too far. Hmmm, the story here has implied that moms who drink at a playgroup could take THAT too far and these Moms are upset at the implication. (Well, of course that could NEVER happen...)
I just think it's funny that they feel the need to DEFEND themselves, the very thing many of them have torn pageant moms a new one for doing.
HA HA HA..... HA!
(wha'd they expect? sympathy??? ....forgive me if I'm feeling a wee bit vindicated)
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