They’re back.

After 17 years of living underground feeding from tree roots, the cicada nymphs have started to emerge – butt first.  Their breech arrival isn’t written anywhere that I’ve seen. But I have powerful observation skills as a trained scientist. And every single one I’ve seen comes out like this:

I read that they emerge when the ground temperature reaches exactly 64 degrees Fahrenheit. How do they know that?

Soon, they will be all over the ground. They will climb up trees, pupate, and hatch into sex-starved red-eyed flies (you can just see the red eye on the nymph above).

They will breed and lay eggs that will hatch into little nymphs who will burrow back into the ground, grow, and eat tree juice for the next 17 years until it’s their turn to have sex.

It’s a living, I guess.

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I’m hanging out at the yeah write moonshine grid. There’s plenty to go around. Check it out!

She traded it all for a silver kiss.

She’d tried to resist, but in the end she just couldn’t.

Jimmy was 12, a big 6th grader. Jimmy got kisses every day, and she’d never had one at all. He’d seen her looking at him for weeks.

Finally, he’d approached her after school, startling her by jumping out from behind a weeping willow as she walked home along the river.

“I’ll give you a kiss if you take off your clothes,” he smiled.

She hesitated. Mama would never allow it, she’d be so mad. But she wanted that kiss more than anything.

Finally, after thinking about it for a full 5 minutes, she slipped out of her worn shoes and torn socks, shimmied out of her hand-me-down dress and tossed them at Jimmy’s feet. Standing there in her slip, she extended her hand and waited for her kiss.

“All of it,” he stated, as he looked her up and down.

“I can’t,” she cried, “Why isn’t this good enough?”

“All of it,” he repeated, “or no kiss.”

Reluctantly, she pulled the slip over her head and tossed it at Jimmy’s feet too.

“All of it.”

Oh no. She’d come so close, she just couldn’t let the kiss go now. She was practically naked anyway, and she could just taste that sweet kiss. Her panties joined the pile. She stood by the river, feeling as vulnerable as she was naked.

Jimmy laughed as he scooped up her clothes and turned to walk away.

“Hey, what about my kiss?!!” She yelled frantically. “A deal’s a deal!”

“Oh yeah, here you go Fido!” he mocked, tossing a handful of Hershey’s kisses to the ground.

No longer aware of her nakedness, she scrambled towards the kisses and gathered them from the ground.

Six whole kisses.

She sat down on a smooth boulder, peeled the foil wrapper off of one and popped it into her mouth. The kiss felt huge in her mouth, and she nearly passed out from the sweet nirvana, the rich chocolatey taste permeating her every fiber. Saliva welled up and leaked out. She wiped it off, smearing milk chocolate across her face. The next one, she savored, taking teeny tiny bites such that most of the chocolate ended up on her fingers. Licking it off, she decided to eat the others the first way.

Oh yeah, Mama was going to be mad. They didn’t have much money, certainly not enough to replace her clothes.

But she no longer cared.

Her first kisses were so sweet, and nothing could take that away.

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I’m hanging out with my favorite fiction and poetry peeps. This week, we had to refer to the photo in some way and start with “She traded it all for a silver kiss.” Come join us at the yeah write speakeasy!

When Rich and I walked into the bank, we were relieved to see a dozen smiling employees (4 tellers and 8 others) and only one customer.

Two weeks had already passed since we’d received a document requiring notarization. Our crazy schedules hadn’t allowed the both of us to get to a notary during the week because, you know, banking hours don’t jive with full time jobs. Finally, we managed to locate a 45 minute window during our precisely choreographed baseball-full Saturday and a bank that was actually open, with a notary.

[source]

With the bank so empty, we figured we’d be out of there and back to the ball field in no time.

“May I help you?” asked non-busy employee #1?

“Yes, we need to get something notarized.” I smiled.

“No problem, have a seat and Cindy will be right with you.” Non-busy employee #1 smiled back.

“Which one is Cindy?”

“She’s over there.” Non-busy employee #1 pointed to the woman helping the only other customer.

“Is she the only notary?”

“Yes, have a seat please.” Non-busy employee #1 then flitted past a security guard and disappeared behind a closed door.

We looked over at Cindy, the only notary, who was helping the only other customer in the bank. One dollar bills covered the desk, and Cindy was making her way through the pile, counting them. Also on the desk, sat the biggest jar of coins we’d ever seen.

“Are you kidding me?” Rich whispered, looking over at the four non-busy tellers chatting amongst themselves and the other non-busy employees seemingly randomly stationed throughout the bank. “Can’t somebody else do that?”

“I know!” I replied. “It’s not like you have to be a notary to count money!”

“Excuse me, may I help you?” Non-busy employee #2 asked.

“Yes, we need a notary,” Rich answered.

“Oh, you’ll have to wait for Cindy then. She’ll wave you over when she’s done.” Non-busy employee #2 walked pertly past the security guard and retreated behind the same closed door, probably to drink coffee and laugh with non-busy employee #1.

By this time, Cindy, who was apparently the only intelligent person in the bank, realized what was happening. “Can I get some help over here? I don’t want to keep these people waiting so long.”

After Cindy’s second request, non-busy employee #3 rushed over and started helping her count the singles. The four tellers kept chatting.

“What can I help you with?” Non-busy employee #4 asked.

“We need to get a document notarized,” I stated, without smiling.

“Cindy will be with you right away!” Non-busy employee #4 sauntered past the security guard and through the door. This scenario was starting to resemble “So Long, Farewell” from the Sound of Music, only without the music.

Finally, Cindy came to our rescue. She sent the customer off to the change machine with his huge jar. Loading the machine with that much coinage took 15 minutes, plenty of time to notarize our document.

We made it to Shane’s game with high blood pressure and 5 minutes to spare.

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I’m hanging out with yeah write, for bloggers who write and writers who blog. Come join us!

Once per quarter, I amuse myself by looking at the Google search terms that led to my blog. And then I blog about it so I can laugh again.

Rated R: I can’t find my blog in the first 5 pages when I search all but one of these terms, so I’m baffled as to how these pervs landed here.

girl snow wet jeans

sportsillustmmm

Thoenies have sex with girl

pictures low neckline dresses busty

googleme porn star: Obviously this hit on Google Me posts. But porn star?

naked men bodies at bachelorette parties: I am on page 5 of this search due to my bachelorette party post

Just gross

pregnant sick throw up vomit husband back: Seriously?

is lemon water good gory: I don’t know. I’ve never added blood before. I’m actually second on this search from my Blue Print Cleanse post, ha!

Silly

pour wine over no headache:  If you don’t have a headache, why are you pouring wine over it? I’m first in this search due to my Wine Creep post, which is an awesome one, if I do say so myself.

stop dog eating books: Yes! Dog-eating books are a threat to the entire canine species.

how to pump gas in Germany: How the heck would I know? I live in NJ. I am not even allowed to pump gas anymore. But I could tell you how to do it in California.

“cut it all off” Um what?

bling my MDX: Well obviously since I live in NJ, I know how to bling my MDX, duh!

The weather

lego tornado warning: After Irene, the Nor’easter, and Sandy, I’m not sure I could handle a Lego tornado.

sponge bob square pants headed to the beach: I guess he’s not worried about the Lego tornado!

Ego boost

famous moms

Hurts my feelings

stuff people don’t like

CA vs NJ: I guess some people aren’t happy anywhere.

california whine country

wish i’d never moved to nj

That’s a wrap!

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In case you’re interested, here are my other Google Me posts:

Google Me

Google Me Again

Google Me Q412

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I’m hanging out at the yeah write moonshine grid, where almost anything goes. Why don’t you join me?

Last August, when I embarked on my greater than year-long 50 Shades of Fitness goals to be in my best-shape ever (whatever that is) by my 50th birthday, I promised monthly updates. My last update was January, oops.

Obviously, I haven’t been perfect with the updates. It’s not because I haven’t wanted to, I just got busy or distracted and then it would be the middle of the month and the “I’ll do it next month” thought would kick in.

Plus, it’s getting harder and harder to think up titles with “50 Shades.” So, I was thrilled when I saw Christie’s ”faboosh” comments, because faboosh has a nice ring to it, and starts with F, which rolls off the tongue nicely with fifty and fitness. Thanks Christie for inspiring this post title!

I haven’t been perfect with my goals either. But that’s ok – slow and steady apparently really does win the race. Small changes make a difference over time, even with setbacks – like eating and drinking my way through the aftermath of hurricane Sandy or a little too much December holiday cheer. I had some measurements go up during those times.

But overall, I have been losing fractions of inches at a time, some adding up to inches since I started!

My measurements this week were FABOOSH. The monthly chart is getting a bit too big but here are a few data points.

My weight has not gone down, but I’m trading muscle for fat. And that’s what matters most. I don’t care about the number on the scale, which is why I’m not reporting it. I look a lot more toned, and I feel great.

Can I do better? Sure. Do I still have a muffin top? Yep, but it’s a heck of a lot smaller and that makes me very happy.

Here is what I’ve been doing:

• Strength training 4X/week.
• Intervals (20 minutes on the elliptical) 2X/week
• 3 mile hike in the woods 6-7X/week

Although I’ve been trying to be careful about what I eat, here’s what I am not doing:

• Giving up wine.
• Never eating dessert.

I am sure if I were stricter on the wine and sweets, I’d lose the inches faster. But to be honest, I enjoy those things and I’d rather include them even if it means slower progress or a plateau. I’d much rather step up the exercise than give up too many things I enjoy. Note: the exercise regimen listed above is one I’ve worked up to. I didn’t start off that intensely.

I still have 8 months until my birthday. I’m pleased so far and hope to see continued progress.

And if I can do it, so can you. Baby steps! It’s worked for me so far.

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Below are my other 50 Shades of Fitness updates

50 Shades of Fitness

Let’s ROCKtober

50 Shades of Fitness Fail

50 Shades of Nutrition

50 Shades Lucky

50 Shades of Happy New Year

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I’m hanging out at the yeah write moonshine grid with my non-story this week. See? Relaxed rules on the weekend. Go check it out!

I panicked inwardly when I saw the list, my wards for the field trip to the Liberty Science Center.

Oh no, not Peter.

Keeping track of five third graders in a large multi-floor museum was daunting enough, even without Peter.

I wasn’t sure I had the tools to handle this child, who two years before was an extremely disruptive member of Shane’s first grade class. While volunteering, I’d seen screaming, crying, not following directions, lashing out physically, and more. I’d wondered why he wasn’t in a special ed. class instead.

I started to worry about specifics. What if I lose him? What if he has a tantrum, and I can’t calm him down? What if I lose the other kids, while trying to cope with Peter? And so on.

After passing out the rest of the lists, Shane’s teacher pulled me aside. “Look, I know Peter can be a handful. If you have any problems, call me and we’ll switch. The reason I put him with you is that Shane is kind to him, and Peter seems to be bonding, which is often difficult for him.”

My heart swelled, and I decided to give Peter (and myself) the benefit of the doubt, rather than continue on my worry-spiral.

The buses were over an hour late, so we waited in the cafeteria with our groups. Peter became increasingly agitated. I kept telling him it was ok, the buses would come soon, while he paced or rocked, repeatedly stating “I can’t wait anymore.” I could tell he was on the verge of screaming. But he didn’t. He held it together, and I was impressed because in first grade he’d have been in a major meltdown after five minutes.

Eventually, we arrived at Liberty. And you know what? Peter wasn’t a problem. Sure, I had to tell him more than once that we were moving to a different room because he became hyper-focused on certain exhibits. And I had to keep him from wandering off because he didn’t really stay with the other kids. But he had no outbursts of any kind and really seemed to enjoy himself.

Back on the bus, before we left the parking lot, Peter said, “Last time I was here, a car was on fire.”

“Really?” Shane and I asked simultaneously.

“Yes, there was a car on fire and then the fire truck came.”

“Yeah sure there was Peter,” said Justin, one seat forward, rolling his eyes and elbowing the boy next to him. They both started laughing.

“Stop it!” Shane countered. “There could have been a car on fire. You don’t know. You weren’t even there!”

Amazingly, the bullies shut up, and I was so incredibly proud of my son for the second time that day.

On the entire ride home, Shane and Peter brainstormed ideas for intricate traps to catch bad guys in Minecraft, a popular video game.

While I marveled at the effect that mainstreaming has had on this child.

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The names of the real Peter and Justin have been changed. Peter didn’t do the density of water experiment with the other kids. Instead, he was riveted by a crane driving simulation that resembled a video game.

I learned from Dawn’s awesome blog that today is World Autism Awareness Day, so what better day to whip this post into shape and publish. 

I’m also linking up with my yeah write peeps. We’re still having a birthday bash – with presents – so come check it out!

The sun was setting when she finally arrived home, if you could call it that.

Darla unlocked the van and slid open the side door, allowing her shepherd mix, Wolf, to jump in first before climbing in herself. She’d barely made it this time, she thought, shivering as she swung the door back in place and locked it.

Avoiding the rusted spring poking out of the worn fabric, Darla sat on the nearest seat and opened her knapsack to survey the day’s haul.

“Two cans of Spaghetti-Os, a box of Ritz crackers, a half-eaten jar of peanut butter and – bonus, Wolf, three cans of Alpo!”

Wolf barked once and then cocked his head, regarding Darla.

It wasn’t much, Darla knew. Supplies were scarce and she kept having to cover greater distances to find anything at all. She needed a new plan, and soon, because staying out after dark was certainly not an option.

Darla took a sip of water from the canteen she’d filled in the stream a mile away, and then poured some water into an old Tupperware container for Wolf.

Wolf lapped up the water and then nudged Darla gently on the leg. “Good boy,” she cooed automatically, scratching him behind the ears.

Darla looked out the window at the darkening sky, the oranges and pinks receding. Twenty minutes, she guessed, until they’d have to go silent and be still for the night.

“I think we have just enough time for one can each. I’ll let you have the Alpo, ok Wolf?”

Wolf barked once in agreement and wagged his tail until Darla opened the two cans and emptied the Alpo into Wolf’s makeshift bowl. While Wolf, well, wolfed down his food, Darla ate cold Spaghetti-Os with a fork.

Darla hadn’t seen another person in a long time. She knew there must be other survivors, but she refused to go anywhere more than half a day’s travel on foot. She hadn’t been able to find a working car and couldn’t risk being out after dark, when the Seekers came out. She’d successfully avoided them so far, but she needed to eat. Darla considered her dilemma while finishing her meager meal. She licked the fork clean and then put it back in the cardboard box with the rest of her kitchen utensils. Darla placed the two empty cans in a plastic bag. This might not be the perfect home, but the van had served her well and she liked to keep it tidy.

Outside, darkness closed in. Darla sighed. Maybe she’d have some brilliant epiphany in the morning, maybe.

“C’mon Wolf, quiet time.”

Darla crawled into her bed, a sleeping bag on the floor. Wolf licked her face and then sat next to her, alert.

Any minute now.

As if on cue, Wolf growled, a slow low rumbling sound. Darla put her arm around him, “Shhhh.” She coaxed him to lie down beside her. “Shhhhhh.”

Wolf went still.

The screaming began. Darla thought they might be closer tonight.

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I’m hanging out at the yeah write speakeasy, the fiction and poetry party place. This week, we had to start with the sentence “The sun was setting when she finally arrived home” and refer to the photo prompt in some way. Come on over and join the fun!

I have never been a fashionista.

In part, that’s because I didn’t inherit the gene. But it’s also true that most of the time I’d rather be comfortable than stylish.

Now that I don’t need to don business casual attire for work, I spend most of the day in workout clothes until I manage to find time to take a shower sometime in the afternoon. That means I go out in public – into actual stores, sometimes even to the swanky Short Hills mall – looking decidedly un-put together.

I’m certainly not the only one running around my town looking “athletic,” although I’m pretty sure I AM the only one not wearing Lululemon. I’ll admit their stuff is cute, but I can’t see the point of spending that much money for something I intend to sweat in.  And now that they’ve recalled some too sheer, too revealing pants I’m even more glad I resisted. I don’t need to be showing off any “assets” at my age.

My friends in NJ seem to tolerate my Lululessness, maybe since I don’t do yoga. Or maybe it’s just too big a project to fashionize my entire self.

But the scrunchies I tie my hair back with?

They had to go.

I totally blame Carrie Bradshaw and my current proximity to NYC. I watched that episode of Sex and the City from the left coast, back when my life plan included never leaving California again.

I laughed at the absurdity of condemning scrunchies. People in California still wore them all the time, and Carrie was obviously just being snooty.

But now that I live near NYC, I can see that even all these years later people still shun scrunchies. Target, Harmon’s, and other places sell them, but I have no idea who in my town would dare to buy one. Although my NJ hairdresser recommends scrunchies because they are gentler on hair than other types of ties, her opinion is no match for Carrie’s scorn in this part of the world.

I am not alone in my scrunchie love. Just last year, Hillary Clinton’s staff wanted to ban her precious scrunchies, a movement the Huffington Post called scrunchie-gate. Seriously?

If Hillary stood by her scrunchies, why shouldn’t I?

After all, I don’t actually care what people think, especially when I’m in pre-shower fitness mode.

But when one of my friends subtly pointed me in the direction of a more acceptable type of hair tie, I figured maybe I should make this small concession because, you know, when in Rome and all.

I  bought some of the recommended NYC-approved hair ties and found that, similar to my beloved scrunchies, these don’t pull my hair out. And I like them enough to wear them instead.

So my workout clothes may still be uncool, but my ponytail is all kinds of stylish.

And my scrunchies?

I’m saving them for when I return to California, far away from NYC and Carrie Bradshaw’s evil influence.

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I’m over at the yeah write birthday bash. Come and join the party!

It’s officially spring. Everyone’s got spring fever, but it sure doesn’t feel like spring in NJ.

1.   It’s still cold. Not just chilly but cold enough to snow last Saturday. And it’s gonna snow Monday-today. I mean, C’MON!

2.   Although baseball has started, it doesn’t feel like spring when my son pitches in the snow.

3.   Or when watching every game I adorn a full length down jacket, boots, hat, gloves–and I’m still cold.

4.   The dogwoods aren’t blooming and NONE of the trees have leaves or even buds yet, never mind flowers.

5.   The grass and yard plants aren’t growing yet either.

6.   The insects remain dormant (I’m ok with this one).

7.   The spring symphony of frogs in the forest isn’t even warming up.

8.   The grill sits idle.

9.   Our pool is still winterized.

10. I haven’t had a pedicure yet!!

Enough is enough!! This California girl is so done with winter.

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Ah Monday Listicles, how I’ve missed you!

I’m over at the yeah write moonshine grid this weekend. Why don’t you join me in the awesomeness?

If you know me at all, you know I’m kind of a stickler for rules.

It’s not that I never broke any rules growing up, not by a long shot. I didn’t make my bed every day. I went cubing on the Stanford Golf Course and swimming at the Stanford pool after hours on more than one occasion (I blame my faculty-brat friends for that). I toilet papered houses. I drank alcohol before I turned 21, and I even technically stole a car once.

It’s also true that I sometimes break rules as an adult. I speed, although not by enough to get caught. I let my kids feed the ducks at ponds with “No Feeding the Waterfowl” signs. I let my dog off-leash in the reservation every single day. And I have no issues with bringing more than my allotment of wine across the NJ state border. Mostly these are things that everyone does, even though technically we’re not supposed to. So I guess I’m a conservative rule breaker, not a hard-core outlaw rule breaker.

But when it comes to contests and competitions and such, I’m a total stickler for rules and fairness.

Sooooo, the people that didn’t follow the rules for my blog giveaway weren’t entered in the drawing.

I know.

But, it’s not fair to those people who read my post carefully enough to understand and play by the rules. It’s not like the rules were buried or in code or anything.

The rules: To enter you have to visit Deb’s website and let me know in the comments one other item that you covet. AND if you tweet my giveaway and leave me another comment saying you did, you can have a second entry.

Many people who commented or tweeted didn’t follow the rules. You might have missed them if you skimmed. Or maybe you didn’t care about winning anyway and all you wanted to do was wish me a happy blogiversary. That’s cool.

So after identifying the rule followers, I wrote all of the entries, in order, on a sheet of paper. Shane picked the winner by random number generator.

Congratulations Kerstin at Auer Life!

Send your mailing address to me at snapsandbits (at) gmail (dot) com and I’ll get your prize in the mail.

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