Moon Clippings

Tick....Tick...

2012-07-23T07:46:00.003-07:00

I'm sitting here reading The History of Love, which I am loving by the way, listening to the icy rain as it hits the window, what a great, great sound. Little tick, ticks...

It made me pause in my reading as if someone was trying to get my attention.

Well, I'm listening.

Inside My Purse

2012-07-19T10:45:00.005-07:00

Inside my purse is a scary place
the scariest place I know.
Got things in there that growl and moan
things that have hair that grows. (I know, I've seen it)
Is that makeup I see? Lipstick perhaps?
or something I was planning to eat?
And what's that ticking noise I hear?
My son's wind up toy with feet? (I truly hope so)
Every once and a while I have to go in
searching for a license or floss.
But damned if sometimes I don't pull out
a clump of hair or is it moss? (I just tossed it back)
It's a love/hate relationship I have with my purse
I love to spend money on them.
I love the styles, the way that they look
With the new outfit I bought for the gym. (Hey, a girl should always look good.)
The bigger the bag the scarier it gets
with the bottom never to be felt
I just have one thing more to say...
If I'm not out in a minute...send help.

I feel like I have to add an addendum here. This was way before I bought the Coach purse. You would never find food or moss or even floss in that bag. These were my cheapy bags.

Changes...and isn't that what life is about?

2012-07-12T12:16:00.000-07:00

Well, I have certainly let things slide here at Moon Clippings. In my defense, life has a way of creating these changing tides sometimes, like a rip tide. And like a rip tide, if you fight it, you will lose. I decided to ride the wave and although it has pushed me further and further away from what I thought I wanted and into some very murky waters, I am relinquishing. And you know, I am ever curious about where this ride will take me.

Isn't She Lovely

2011-07-12T06:22:00.000-07:00

Yup got my first Coach bag this month and can I tell you the first thing I did was text my husband to tell him I'm leaving him for my bag. I am so in love!

I Feel Like Making Love

2011-03-15T09:28:00.000-07:00

Oh yah!!! Just sitting here thinking about that song...Bad Company! Great song! But really when does he not feel like making love?

It got me thinking, as I am wont to do. About the term "making love". And I have to think that a man, very cleverly, mind you, made this term up.

Think about it. Way back when women didn't really like sex, I mean, can you blame them? I think there were holes in the sheets strategically aligned with the vag and, well, it doesn't sound very romantic. So, years later, the guys thinking, I'd like to get a little more visual with this hole thing (pun intended). But she's all shy and stuff...so he starts thinking of ways to make it sound more enticing.

"Hey, honey, wanna make a baby?" She's got like 19 children (and counting) and is like "f... you".

Then he tries, "hey, baby doll, wanna help me find some release?" Thinking he'd appeal to her nurturing, helpful side. "Whatever."

Still trying, "Lovey? Want me to sidle up next to you and slip you something you've been dying for?" She's like, "If it's a valium, sure."

"Um, want to intercourse with me? Sexual fun stuff?" Ain't working.

So, you can see how this isn't really going his way. Then he has this brain storm. He's gonna call it making loooovee!!!

Oh, how perfect. What woman wouldn't swoon. And swoon we did. Oh...he wants to make love. To create something. This man who can't even make a grilled cheese, wants to, wants to....oh, he wants to make love to me and with me and make love, make love yipeeeee!!!

Holey sheets were removed and holy sheet we were making love.

So, the moral of this story is. When you want to go out and get your hair done, buy a new whatever, car, doesn't really matter, just call it "making your boobs bigger".

"Honey, I'm going out to make my boobs bigger, okay?" "Sure thing, sweetness, oh can you make me a grilled cheese before you go?"

Dear Producers of Medium,

2011-01-22T09:23:00.000-08:00

That was completely uncalled for.

Killing off my beloved Joe was a joke! Thinking that Allison is going to spend the rest of her life without him causes me heart ache. Not all series finales need to end in death to be great. Okay, Six Feet Under was and will always be the best series ending I have ever seen. And Lost, well...that was okay. But, Joe and Allison? Nope.

JOE & ALLISON - FOREVER!!

That was the one thing we loved about this family...their togetherness, the bond, the family (did I say family?). It was all about this great family dynamic. The show provided an escapism into a world that was very similar to our own (which is paradoxical, I guess) - minus the talking to dead people, of course. You took that away. I mean, even to the point that they weren't together at the very end. She dies alone...it was stupid and didn't fit the past 7 years. It was a cop-out! Shame on you.

I think if you had ended the show with last week's episode, I would have been fine. Just Allison going on with her life with her family behind her supporting her. Awesomeness!

So, you will excuse me if I will forever think that Joe and Allison are on their back deck, him lovingly massaging her feet while she blathers on about some poor murdered girl reaching out from behind the grave and haunting her dreams.
Yup, Joe is right beside her.

Do I Have A Problem With This?

2011-01-09T11:03:00.000-08:00

Okay, I love the idea but it's gotta be wrong on so many levels.

Explanation: Son got invited to Timmy's birthday party. Invite said the day, time, and activity. Great. Invite also told me where I could find Timmy's wish basket. Say, What? Yup, just go into the store, ask the cashier for Timmy's wish basket and viola - pick one, pay for it, and be done.

One the one hand - this is awesome. I don't have to bug my son to come up with something he thinks this kid will like. "I don't know if he likes lego, mom!!" And what about the time savings. It'll take nothing to grab something from that basket and be done.

But the other hand. Is this what birthday presents have come to? Isn't it a gift that we think you'll like? Doesn't Timmy want to be surprised? And what are we teaching the little Timmys of this world? To not only expect to be given something, but exactly what he "wishes" for? Damn. I remember telling my kids to put on that "it's awesome" face, smile and thank the friend politely. It's a great lesson for later in life, no?

But, it's so convenient. No, it's bad, it's horrible. I'm happy to not have to think about what to get. Sad, really. Hey, don't we do this exact thing for weddings and baby showers? Don't we pick out stuff we want to get? We're only thinking of our guests, making it easy for them, right? Yah, right!

Okay, so back to the 12 year old's party. Where do I stand? I would never do it, but, honestly, I'm glad they did.

You Know Your Boobs Are Small...When....

2011-01-03T11:51:00.000-08:00

I'm sure this has happened to many, many moms out there....

You're in Pump and Pilates class, thinking that your December hiatus from the gym may not have been a very good idea or that perhaps your top has shrunk because, damned, you can see the sports bra mashing the boobies. Wow. Did I gain weight up there? Funny, they didn't look any bigger this morning.

So, you start working out and during the kick backs to help the ol' triceps, you think to yourself. "Self, I don't ever remember being able to see your bra straps when you wear your racer back top."

Then it dawns you...your sports bras are all racer backs!

Then it really dawns on you...'cause even from this bent over, precarious position, you can see that your small boobies are struggling against all hope to be free. Because....are you ready??

You're wearing your 11 year old's training bra....ouch!

F - This!!

2010-12-27T14:58:00.000-08:00

So, I had a brilliant idea over the holidays for a business. Admittedly, I have a few kinks to work out, but really, I think it could take off.

I'm going to open a store, in the mall, right next to Macy's. It's called F-This! The F is not what you think. It's short for "fake".

And it's going to sell many fake things....why not? There's this obsession with these trendy items that cost an arm and a leg and people are willing to pay! What about those that want to look as cool but can't afford the price. I have the answer.

I won't sell Uggs, but Fuggs. Mine won't cost $140, they'll only be like $19.99. And they'll be just as comfortable.

I'm gonna sell FiPads, FiPhones, FiPods. Let's not stop there...Foach Bags, Fandora jewelry, The Forth Face jackets. Fanolo Blahniks. The opportunities are endless.

My husbands all, "You won't pull it off, you'll get sued in a second." Downer. I don't think they sound the same at all.

I brought this up at Christmas dinner and although my niece and nephew loved the idea, they questioned where I was going to get the products. "Who makes a FiPad?" they asked. Okay, like I said I have a few kinks to work out.

My brother asked about art. Sure!!! There could be a huge Fart section.

I'd love to hear any of your ideas if you have them. We could all go in on this together. Interested??

A Bagger's Revenge

2010-12-21T09:51:00.000-08:00

I understand that you take your job very seriously, I do. I was a cashier once and, truth be told, it was an awesome job. I sometimes had to bag orders. I was an amazing bagger. If they had awards (which would have been too freakin' ballsy), I would have won! Let's see if I remember: frozen foods in one bag, eggs on the top, meats separate from anything else, not too many cans in one bag, cleaning supplies have the plague - bundle them up several times and don't even think about putting them with anything edible. Um, you get the picture. It's not difficult.

((I bet most people think I am going to write about how he messed up that little grocery packing lesson I just wrote about. I wish.))

As my items came flying down the ramp (I say flying because Monica was whipping my food, even my chips), he stood there watching and waiting. I could easily see several items he could have started with, but I was powerless and bagless to help. He contemplated his next move like this was a chess game he needed to win because the very lives of his family hung in the balance. Then he began. Slowly. One item at a time. Searching for a compatible food item to share its ride home with cat food.

Did you think there were social problems you had to worry about? You stared at the pasta and bread crumbs for like :30? Did you think they'd mate like rabbits or kill one another like two male rats.

So, while he was contemplating my array of goods like he was on the finale of Survivor and this puzzle of fitting my groceries in perfectly, was the difference between $1,000,000 or nada - and trust me if that were the case, me and the 30 people behind me would have been rooting you on - I could only smile (what else could I do? It's almost Christmas, after all) and hope that Monica would help. Monica? Will you help? Please help Edmond. Nawww... she's to busy talking to the cashier next to her. I start listening in. What else could I do?

Monica's almost done Christmas shopping. Yogurt fits in nicely with the cheese and eggnog (they have sugar cookie eggnog, BTW, most excellent). She was going to get her boyfriend an iTunes gift card but that's so impersonal (big word from Monica). Broccoli goes in with peapods. No. Broccoli comes out and carrots go in with peapods. Sure, they are better suited to each other, I understand. Poor broccoli, I wonder where he'll end up. The other cashier (can't read her name. To. Far. Away) is getting her boyfriend an PS3, ha. She has no idea what she has done. I won't tell. Mac 'n Cheese (don't judge) goes in with pasta and a couple jars of tomatoes. Oh, I see where he's going with that...and on ...and on... he goes.

So I get home and pull out my groceries. Everything has fallen over and out of their bags since I had to slam on my breaks for some loser who wouldn't go through a yellow light, I know...loser!!! So I pull out the last bag and there's the broccoli, which has managed to escape its plastic cocoon and is now getting to know, and intimately I might add, the soap and laundry detergent. Really? Really, Bagger!!

I know you are sitting in the break room laughing? I hope you are enjoying yourself.

I Hate When This Happens!!!!

2010-12-11T14:11:00.000-08:00

Someone left the cake out in the rain. I think it was my daughter. I told her to put it in the fridge and I saw her heading for it, but then the cat cried to be let in and, well...she must have been distracted.

I don't think that I can take it. Really!! 'Cause it took so long to bake it. I started around noon. Stopped just to make dinner and then went at it again. There was all this funky stuff with a real vanilla bean and whisking egg whites. Do you see all those freakin' flowers? Those aren't easy and they're all edible! I finished at like 9:00 (I even missed the first 3 hours of Biggest Loser).

Why did it have to rain last night??? Crap. Why didn't I remember to put it in my beautiful cake holder from the Container Store. Shit!

And the worst part is... I'll never have that recipe again. Not sure why? I think it was one of those disappearing ink recipes. It lasts for one day and then, poof! Gone. I tried Googling it but nothing. The person that gave it to me said theirs vanished, too. I'm pissed. Damned it all!!!

I'm A Red Light Texter

2010-12-09T12:14:00.000-08:00

Wanna make something of it?

Yah, that's me - sitting behind my wheel just cruisin' for a bruisin'.

I don't care if a cop pulls up along side, let him watch.

My kids are sitting in the car, too. What of it?? I can handle it. Sometimes I even ask them to keep an eye on the light - yup - doin' momma's dirty work.

I like to live on the edge. You betta hope we don't cross paths!!

Oops, gotta go - light turned green.

We Wish You A Merry Christmas???

2010-12-06T06:09:00.000-08:00

[[To my son...I know you said it was too long and no one will read it, but you know what? You and I laughed together while I wrote this and that is the best!! This one's for you... Merry Christmas my little boy!!]]

So my husband and I were having a nice relaxing dinner of chicken pot pie the other night. Just as I was about to sip my Cabernet, the doorbell rang. The children were all in various parts of the house so they weren't going to answer the door. As my husband was sliding his chair out from under him, we heard a lovely harmonized humming from out front. I decided to join him as I suspected carolers.

We were pleasantly surprised to see a group of 6-7 men and woman standing at the bottom of our stairs humming quietly. It was beautiful and with the glistening snow behind them, it was simply a peaceful, charming scene.

As they started, my husband grabbed my hand...

"We wish you a merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas
And a happy New Year."

So awesome. I screamed for my kids but when one of the women cringed, I decided I'd better hunt them down. I didn't want them to miss all this Christmas cheer.

The kids begrudgingly joined us at the door and were horrified to see grown men and women singing to us. I gave them the evil eye signaling to keep quiet and look as if this is the most magical thing in the world they've ever seen. They obliged.

"Glad tidings we bring
To you and your kin;
Glad tidings for Christmas
And a happy New Year!"

Awww...so sweet. Although I think the little woman on the end is freezing. But my husband's getting into it and is smiling and swaying and I'm smiling but also wondering how cold my dinner is getting.

"So bring us some figgy pudding
So bring us some figgy pudding
So bring us some figgy pudding
Please bring it right here!"

I'm sorry. What was that? I look quickly at my husband and mutter so they can't hear me, "What did they just say?" He has terror in his eyes as he responds, "Not sure, something about fruity pudding - do you have any jello?" "Maybe we misunderstood. Just keep smiling."

"Glad tidings we bring
To you and your kin;
Glad tidings for Christmas
And a happy New Year!"

"Ah, that's better. " We both think to our selves. The snow starts to gently fall. The kids are even getting a little into it. It's so picturesque that the chicken pot pie is actually forgotten. The wine, not so much.

"We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
So bring it out here!"

I glance at my husband again. He shifts his eyes at me, then quickly back to the group. Surely we misunderstood. But they just keep repeating this.

"Bring what?" I ask him.
"Not sure? Maybe that fruity pudding stuff."
"It's figgy pudding, dad," my daughter pipes up.

"So bring us some figgy pudding
So bring us some figgy pudding
So bring us some figgy pudding
Please bring it right here!"

"Yup. It's figgy pudding alright," I say. Still smiling.

"We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
So bring it out here!"

An hour and a half later. They are still at our door. Switching between so bring us some of that fig crap and we ain't leaving until we get some. My husband's all "Maybe we should call the cops." I cleaned up our dinner dishes, got the kids in bed and while I was folding the laundry, still they went on and on.

CRASH!!! WTF

"Oh my God, honey! One of them just threw a rock at our door," My husband comes flying into the bedroom with a crazed look on his face. "What the hell are we gonna do?" Do you know how to make figgy pudding?" He screamed. "Maybe if we just make some and give it to them, they'll leave."

"Honey, I don't even know what the hell a fig is. Can I make them chocolate pudding? I have that."

"NO!" He screams, grabs his hat and coat and amidst snowballs being hurled at warped speed at his car, takes off for the store."

Some how I fell asleep to the lulling sound of people demanding milk based desserts. And woke to the blender whirring away in the kitchen. I stumbled down the stairs, hearing them telling us they still ain't leaving. Oh my head!

"Are you serious? Are you freakin' making figgy pudding?" I asked my husband, who at this point looked possessed.

"Honey," he's whispering, "they are not leaving" they won't leave until the get some, can't you HEAR them? If I don't get this made," he's panting now, "they may never leave. I fear for the kid's safety. Holy shit. What was that?"

"Nothing. Honey, your starting to lose it."

"Pass me that flamingo egg," he yells.

Seriously, where the hell did he find that?

With a quick whisk of the egg, a plop into 6-7 bowls, it was done. All I kept thinking was, what if it sucks and they won't take it? What if they want whipped cream? I don't have any. God. Hear our prayer. Make them go away!!

With what can only be described as pure unadulterated fear, we opened our door. There they were all red faced from singing, lack of sleep and toilet facilities, I imagine, glaring at us. My husband, like Oliver asking for more food, offers up the bowls.

They pass the bowls around. As they begin to eat, the sun starts rising in the East and all might just be right for the world. We hold our breath. And wait....

"Glad tidings we bring
To you and your kin;
Glad tidings for Christmas
And a happy New Year!"

Do I dare breathe. Is that a smile on one of their faces?

We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
And a happy New Year."

And like they were never here, they left. Not even a thank you. Really? But there was silence. The only sound...my husband licking his fingers.

"Damn this stuff is good"

I ran inside, called my neighbor. "DO NOT ANSWER THE DOOR!!!"

What's Wrong With The Doll??

2010-12-01T10:45:00.000-08:00

On the Island of Misfit toys there's a train with square wheels, a gun that shoots jelly, a Charlie-in-the-Box, a bird that likes to swim, a cowboy that rides an ostrich, a boat that sinks, a spotted elephant and even Hermey is an elf who wants to be a dentist. But what is wrong with the doll??!!!

According to misfittoys.net, "Arthur Rankin, producer, says the Dolly's problem is more psychological. As it is never mentioned in the script why in particular the doll is a misfit, some offer this: Charlie-in-the-Box tells Rudolph, Hermey and Yukon when they arrive on the Island of Misfit Toys that King Moonracer flies over the earth each night and brings unloved toys to the island of Misfits. Dolly is perhaps there because she feels she is unloved and perhaps the the little girl who once played with her is now grown up and Dolly now sits in a box, unwanted, waiting to be loved by another little girl again."

Awwwww...too, sad...she is an unloved Dolly.

Hmmmm....I'm thinking I would not want to receive a doll that had psychological problems.

Sweetheart, Sugar Pie even Love Lumps

2010-11-30T10:52:00.000-08:00

But when was the last time you called your honey...Darling??

What happened to that one?

It does seem like such a pretentious pet name. Maybe only the rich can get away with it. Although, Karen Carpenter got away with it in that "Chestnuts" song.

It really does sound very funny when you say it. I'm gonna call him darling tonight!

That's all I'm thinking about on this unseasonably warm end of November!

One Hit Wonder...NO WONDER

2010-11-27T13:44:00.000-08:00

I'm driving down the road and Lonely Boy comes on by Andrew Gold. A blast from the past. I'm all excited, I know every word and I'm blaring it and singing it and....then....it.....hits....me....WTF? Do you hear these lyrics?? Was this really a song?? Did we all sing this back in 1977 (which explains everything, I was 13 and had no clue what I was singing about). I laugh. What if my 16 yo son heard me singing this? He already thinks my songs are lame. Talk about fuel.

: Read
Lonely Boy Lyrics
here.

Shall we examine this closer??? You know you want to...

He was born on a summer day, 1951 - So far so good.
And with the slap of a hand - Ouch...guess they did that back then.
He had landed as an only son - Well...first borns usually are the only child. Remember that.
His mother and father said "what a lovely boy" - Yes, we said that when our first son was born, right before, we were smacked by the doctor and told "He has a penis".
We'll teach him what we learned - We'll also leave a lot out.
Ah yes, just what we learned - Nope. Sticking to leaving a few things out. We don't want to. screw. him. up.
We'll dress him up warmly and - Oh, and we'll feed him, too, right?
We'll send him to school - After a few years of homeschooling, though.
It'll teach him how to fight - 'Cause we're sending him to a bad, bad school.
To be nobody's fool - Yeah, not my lovely boy!
Oh, oh, what a lonely boy - Well, like I said, this is how that first child thing works.
Oh, what a lonely boy
Oh, what a lonely boy
In the summer of '53 his mother - Okay, here we go, another child. A lot of people do this you know?
Brought him a sister - Awww...I wonder if they called her handsome?
But she told him "we must attend to her needs" - yes, like being warm and sending her to that bad school you go to.
"She's so much younger than you" - Again, you're two and she's zero. Got that? You really need some math.
Well, he ran down the hall and he cried - Wait. What's the deal? Your friend Roger has two younger siblings, right? She'll be a friend and you won't be lonely anymore. We were just thinking of YOU!!! "Think he bought it?"
Oh, how could his parents have lied - Guess not. We never told you we were only going to have one child! And why the hell would we discuss this with a two year old, anyway?
When they said he was an only son - Oh, I see the miscommunication now...well, we meant you were the only one at this point. When we add another child that makes two. You would understand that if you took a math class. BTW, we still think you're lovely.
He thought he was the only one - Well, you were. Christ sakes, do I really need to effin' explain this again?
Oh, oh, what a lonely boy - Enough of that...go to your room!
Oh, what a lonely boy
Oh, what a lonely boy
[Instrumental Interlude] - la la la la la
He left home on a winter day, 1969 - He's 18, I did the math. Guess he's not going to college. Well, all he knows how to do is fight and not be a fool. Maybe he should to into the army. No fools there.
And he hoped to find all the love - Yah, he's such a catch. Poor momma's boy!
He had lost in that earlier time - Just what some poor girl wants...to give him the love he never, ever got from his mommy and daddy.
Well, his sister grew up - They do that.
And she married a man - They do that, too. Well, some opt for a professional career and then get married and some of course, marry women.
He gave her a son - He did? Was this a wedding gift?
Ah yes, a lovely son - Oh, grandma!
They dressed him up warmly - She learned something from her mom,
They sent him to school - For reading, writing and arithmetic, right?
It taught him how to fight - WTF? Really? You didn't learn anything from your brother?
To be nobody's fool - Good grief, maybe not a fool, but a sniveling brat fo sho!
Oh, oh, what a lonely boy - See? I think he should call his uncle and the two of them can go rent a cabin, cuddle their blankies and throw darts at their mom's photo.
Oh, what a lonely boy - Oh, gimme a break, we don't care! Just don't call your mom. She's now an alcoholic-manic-depressive because of you. And she'll end up telling you about your sister who's also an alcoholic-manic-depressive. Such lovely boys, you two!
Oh, what a lonely boy - Nobody gives a shit anymore!!

Okay, he redeemed himself, he wrote "Thank you for being a friend".
Love me some Golden Girls!

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

2010-11-25T06:04:00.000-08:00

May your stuffing be tasty,

May your turkey be plump,

May your potatoes and gravy

Have nary a lump.

May your yams be delicious.

And your pies take the prize.

And may your Thanksgiving dinner

Stay off your thighs!

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving all my new bloggy friends!!!

A Little Pink Washcloth

2010-11-23T09:23:00.000-08:00

When I was pregnant with my fourth child, many of my friends had suggested that this time I not find out the sex of the baby. I had found out with all three of my boys. I loved knowing the sex, but we decided, "why not?" we'll wait.

Throughout my pregnancy I kept looking for signs, Was I carrying differently? A little. Was I more ill this time around? A little. Someone had mentioned that girls suck the life out of you - ha. So, they all assumed I was carrying a boy, because I looked fabby.

Looking for the signs was actually ~~obsessive~~ fun. It was exciting not knowing what I was having, but at the same time, driving me nuts. Were these things in my mind, or were they "signs" from the other world? 'Cause we know all my deceased relatives have nothing better to do, then play head games with an expectant mom. They're all up there, sipping coffee, nudging each other "Look, she thinks that sign on the mailbox that says "It's a Girl" is for her" Bahahahah! "Let's have an 'Its A Boy' balloon float into her yard," Hahaha, LOL, ROCLMAO (Rolling on cloud...) and all that stuff. Well, let them laugh.

But there were some weird things that happened during my pregnancy, or was I just looking for them -

When I'd go in for my monthly appointments the nurses would record the baby's heart rate. It was slightly higher than the boys (someone told us that girls are higher).

I was due after Thanksgiving but since all my boys were ridiculously late, I was preparing for a Christmas baby (my third was 13 days late). Anyway, I was making out my Christmas card list, and called a girl friend. When I told her I needed a "couple addresses," she misunderstood and started screaming - wahoooo!!! I was completely confused until I realized she thought I said "a couple of dresses." Simple misunderstanding?? Perhaps!

During one of my appointments, my OB asked me what birth order I was, I told her I was fourth after three boys, she said she was too. She told me that was very interesting. I think she even scratched her chin. This was a new OB.

Right before I was due. I had a dream. Now I don't put a lot of stock into dreams, I'm very pragmatic in my thinking that dreams are simply our subconscious trying to work out the problems of the day or in our life. I had a dream that my uncle, who had passed away, was smiling at me holding the hand of a little girl who, in my dreams, was my daughter. He stroked her cheek and sent her off. I didn't know where, but I wasn't worried. I woke up and smiled, but really only because my uncle had never before, or has since, shown himself to me in my dreams. We know the other side can manipulate dreams. Ever watch Medium?? Huh??

When my third son was born, I was given a wash cloth set. They were tiny, terry and had different colored boarders. I took the pink one out and placed it in my closet under my turtlenecks. I was going to save this particular one, you know, just in case. One evening, I was in my closet, checked under the turtle necks and it wasn't there. I searched the entire closet, but it was gone. Later on, I had brought my basket of laundry up to my bed to fold and when I was folding my pink (extremely worn) pregnancy nightie, I felt something inside. I reached in, and because of all the static cling, the little pink washcloth was stuck inside my pink nightie. Hmmmm. Strange. How did this little washcloth get stuck in the laundry? My laundry basket is kept in the bathroom not my closet.

When I was about to deliver, we still didn't have a boys name. We just couldn't decide, we had used up the ones we loved. We had a girl's name. I was really starting to panic. When they took the heart rate it was extremely high and my husband was just all calm and said, "I don't think we have to worry about the boy's name." And here I thought it was high because I was panicking.

The big reveal!!

When I delivered, I was so excited that I beat my 9 minute pushing record (7 minutes, thank you very much), I forgot all about the thrill of hearing what sex the baby was. No one yelled "IT'S A WHATEVER" like I had imagined 100 times.

I forgot that I didn't know. I was just happy it was out. But asking what the sex was, was just never a question I had to ask before. After they had sucked the nose, someone mentioned it being a girl. I was all, "Say what??" I will admit that when they handed her to me, I did peek to make sure.

So any sure signs? Naw...but you gotta admit, the little pink washcloth makes you wonder :)

Oh, BTW I called my friend back and told her I needed a couple of dresses and yes, I used the little pink wash cloth on my new little daughter.

Really? She Had To Remove Her Breast??

2010-11-22T13:07:00.000-08:00

(((We interrupt this regularly scheduled silly blog....)))

I really don't like to get involved in anything too controversial. And I will keep myself completely unbiased where the scanning and pat downs at airports are concerned. But WTF?????

This poor woman, opted to be patted down at the airport instead of being shot with a bunch of radiation. I completely understand. Radiation scares me too. I am always fighting my dentist about sticking that thing on the side of my head. But this woman is a cancer survivor. She's sensitive for a good reason. So, she goes for the ol' touchy feely.

The attendant, with her hand cupped around this woman's breast, thought it felt a little strange and asked for an explanation. The woman told her it was a prosthetic breast. The attendant then asked her to remove it. Say, WHAT????

Read the article here. I got nothing else to say.

(((We will now resume the silliness!)))

Planning My Parent's Funeral

2010-11-18T05:35:00.000-08:00

Awww don't feel bad. They aren't dead or anything. As a matter of fact, I went with my mom. Something about spending down some extra money and pre-paying her funeral expenses. Would that we all had everything we needed in our life, that we could start buying the things we'll need when we're dead.

Anyway, I recommend this for anyone who wants a real bonding experience with a parent. I had her in stitches and she me.

Disclaimer: Because I hate to offend anyone, I need to warn you: I am about to make fun of funerals, funeral homes, funeral home workers, and a tiny bit of the rituals that are wrapped around death.

Still with me? Great.

First off, the funeral home is nice. Not in a Good Housekeeping kind of way, more of the Victorian Era meets the 21st Century (sure I noticed the 60" flat screen). What wake is it that allows you to watch tv? What are we watching, the game? Or better yet, Millionaire Matchmaker? I'd attend even if I didn't know the deceased.

So, the woman who opened the door, scared me a little and only because my hackles were up and I was a little creeped out at what we were there for. She was short, wearing all black (obvs.) and looked as though she had suffered a stroke (I can make stroke jokes, right? 'Cause my dad's had one. I'm in the club). No, she didn't have a hump - although I looked. I wished she had answered the door "Goood Eveeening". But it was daytime.

She directed us to a room that was sparse and looked normal except that you noticed one of the walls had a big indent in it. Enough space for a ~~coffin~~ casket and some flowers I'm guessing. So, this wasn't regular home turned funeral home. Not unless it's so old that it was built in the time that people had wakes in their homes - like my mom did. How convenient to have a built in spot just for Grandma's body.

If it wasn't for that small detail, the room would have looked totally normal. We waited for our funeral worker, I was praying for Michael C. Hall (how awesome would that have been??). No it was a she, and she was pregnant and she was all in black - really? Not one tiny bit of color. Does color offend the dead? When we die are we all like, "NO MORE COLOR! I couldn't stand for you to wear happy clothes." Jokes on them, tho 'cause I look awesome in black. Orange would be so much more depressing.

Where were we - yes, Ms. Goth was explaining the line items as if we were purchasing an automobile and there were features we could get or not, depending on our style and budget. It was going all fine, my mom was awesome and cheaping out and I don't blame her. We don't need a limo. A hearse, yes! But we can throw my mom in the back of the Hyundai. She agreed, love her! We argued about the open casket vs. closed and she's all old school and wants to see my dad and thinks her siblings will be mad if they don't get to see him "one last time," good grief. I said fine and promised we'd keep hers open, but I had my fingers crossed the whole time.

We laughed when there was an additional $100 extra for her because she'll need to have her hair done. She doesn't spend that kind of money now. She's always complaining about her thinning hair that no one knows what to do with. I told her this hair dresser might be the one!

Then came time for casket shopping. I paused by the urns. Found one that was 50 bucks and said. "This will be fine for me." Goffarina said, "That's for an animal." I said, "So, I wouldn't fit in it?" She was not amused. We went for the cheapest caskets but mom didn't like the look of the light birch. "It looks like it's the cheapest one," she says. Don't want that. So, we got the walnut vaneer stain. Just like their kitchen cabinets. We picked out blue lining for dad, cream for mom - awww....I tried to get her to put an etching on the inside lid of the casket (I guess the departed will want something to look at throughout eternity) that said something about "Going Home", but she wanted the Harley Davidson - Oh, I wish!! ((Mental note: Tell hubby to put a picture of Sting on the inside of my casket.))

Back in the room. Gothella asked us to look through prayer cards while she tallied the amount. I asked her to please remember the pre-paid discount. Flipping through all those cards was crazy. Mom was all, "No one cares about these things, they just throw them away." Yes, indeedy they do. But she thought one would be nice to do as a reading. So I copied part of it down the back of one of my check stubs to Google later. I asked her the name of it and she said "Afterglow." We were both howling with laughter, when our friendly funeral worker arrived and told us the damage. We abruptly stopped laughing. Apparently there is no pre-paid deal. What gives? And certainly no "buy one get one 1/2 off" deal, like Payless Shoes. So, $22,000 later - we can all rest in peace!

Wait 'til I tell dad. It's gonna kill him!

OMG There Is Something More Wonderful Than The Real Housewives...

2010-11-16T14:21:00.000-08:00

Oh, I'm sorry is my flashy 13,000 karat diamond baubley thing too much for this page? Well, go to hell...I've earned it!

Matchmaker, Millionaire Matchmaker, make me a match!

Has anyone had the pleasure? Oh. My. God. Quality television!!

I don't know where to begin. Yes, I do.

You put an idiot, self-centered millionaire in a room with 8-10 money grubbing idiots. And the magic just happens! It brings a tear to my eye.

I wish they would run back to back to back to back to back episodes on Bravo!

"Waste Of Our Lives"

2010-11-13T07:36:00.000-08:00

This is the same brother that calls my Barry Manilow (Barely Man Enough). But is it fair to sink to the levels of calling my daytime soap a waste?

Okay, so none of the characters have day jobs. Wait. Bo and Roman are police officers and I know damned well, they are working to solve Arianna's case. They are just really bad at it (case in point: Sefano is still hanging around his mansion drinking brandy). Yes, a lot of them sit around Brady's Pub or Maggie's kitchen (what happened to her restaurant Chez Rouge?) or the two mansions in town. I always just imagine that they are on their way into the office or on a lunch break...Okay, EJ does nothing but isn't he a millionaire? And Sammi, she's just looks for her meal ticket in various boy friends so she can take care of her four children, which are never around. Kate works. She runs a multi-million dollar kitchen something or other business. But, she has her gay assistant do all the real work. She looks amazing, tho, right?

Yes, I know it is impossible for 70 year old restaurant owners to gain access to the hospital's records and switch DNA results to prove paternity. I KNOW!!! I'll give you that this one does teeter on the brink of believability, but come on, Caroline was very concerned for her grand daughter's happiness. I know my grandmother would do this for me.

Okay, tricking out a sarcophagus (yes, they are calling it that) with video, audio, food and water is a tad ridiculous, I'll give my bro that. I mean they've really upped the ante with the whole burying alive scheme. I know you wanted to torture poor Maggie. Too bad the tables were turned on you, huh Viv? But I do have one burning question, I need to know dear Vivian, how did you go the bathroom? Number one, I just used my imagination, but #2? Woah!

And Yes, I know that children age rapidly. Sammi is technically only 24 and yet she has a 16 yo son. Sometimes, they acknowledge this. They'll say "my how you've grown". I only wish they would wink into the camera when they said this, though, so they know we know and are all in on the joke.

So a waste? Naaahhh.....I get a lot of value from my "~~Waste~~" "Days". Like, I learned that you should switch your pocket book 3 times in a day for each outfit. Do it all the time. It takes :30 to get across town. It's possible. There is always time for daytime sex. No job and no children so WTF. It is possible to COMPLETELY recover from being shot point blank into the base of your skull in a couple weeks. But they shaved EJs head, so it's all believable.

AND, and this has saved me more times than I can count, never whisper about your affair, or that you are concerned about the paternity of your baby (well, I have gramma's help for that) or the poison you just baked into brownies because Someone. Is. Always. Listening.

In the words of my brother... "I think it's time to Mo Vaughn."

The Power of (maybe not right) Now

2010-11-11T05:23:00.000-08:00

I think I'll write this blog tomorrow.

Toe Cleavage Makes Me Gag

2010-11-09T14:44:00.000-08:00

And other equally disgusting, gross foot things that maybe only gross me out.

Toe cleav....Ewww...can't even write it again...I can't stand that little "Y" peeking out at the tops of lady's shoes. Yet, I can't help staring at it. Put it away. It's bad enough I have to stare at your actual cleavage, on your feet it's just wrong.

Cracked heels. Now I have cracked heels all winter. It's gross and I'd like to tell you that I scrub them in the shower with a hard piece of coral until I build up little piles of crusty skin. But it's winter so, NO I don't care, much like my hairy legs. I don't even care that my sock snag on them as I try to put them on (the heels and the legs). But in the summer? If there is any sign of a crack even thinking about showing it's ugly head, it is scrubbed and lotioned and vaselined to within an inch of it's little crappy, cracky life. But for some women, this grossness alludes them. There all talking and I can't concentrate 'cause all I hear is c r a c k. GROSS....

The least offender of the pod is the chipped toe nail polish. I get it, we're all busy. We all run out of time. But somewhere between that little chip that came off and that little chip that is left, there's a lot of time. Get on this! It's not like your feet aren't staring you in the face each day. You really can't miss them. Or, don't do it at all. NO!!! Scratch that. That's another thing that kinda grosses me out. Unpolished toes. I don't even like looking at my own unpolished toes, but it's winter, so no one can see. Ewwww!!!

Let's not leave the men's feet out 'cause if truth be told, they should all just be chopped off....

Oh, help me Lord if my husband accidentally brushes up against me with one of those things. Gag.

Long toenails - gag! And if they are discolored - gaaaaggg!!!! And if he's wearing sandals so I have to look at them - help me!!!!! And if they try and carry a conversation with me? (the man, not the toenails, but really it's the toenails I hear). Great, I think I'm gonna throw up my power bar!

And Holy Mother of God if my husband ever gets too old that he can't cut his own hard, yellowish toenails, it's off to the vets. And you can bet, I'll be gagging the entire way.

(Maybe I was a misunderstood podiatrist in other life.)

Fear Of Commitment

2010-11-08T10:26:00.000-08:00

I. Cant. Hit. The. Purchase. Button.

On iTunes.

I just can't commit to a song. I will hear a song on the radio, run home, stick in in my shopping cart (oops, sorry, that is so last week, my, um, wish list) and I just leave it there. And thank God. Cause when I go back a couple months later, I am like "what was I thinking?" My husbands all, "it's only a buck, just buy it." Then he laughs at what I actually put in there.

At one point I thought I was being all contemporary and I put a song from Hoobastank in there. Do you see what I mean? I like Blink 182 but will I tomorrow?

It has taken me 3 years and I still haven't used up my $20 gift card.

Is there a support group for this?