Oscar's got me thinkin'

So, the day after the Academy Awards (who the heck IS "the Academy" anyway?!)...all you see on TV, online, and hear about on the radio is what went on last night. Who won the Oscars, what were they wearing, etc.

What I am most curious about is...how does one go about selecting the paper to write their "acceptance" speech on. Is this paper randomly found in a drawer at home at the last minute? Is it torn from a pad at a hotel just before walking out the door & written hastilly in the limo? Is it carefully typed & printed & cut into a small, manageable size? Was it written with an ink pen that cost more than a months worth of car payment or was a 10 for 99 cents blue Bic pen used? Did the actual star write it or type it out themselves or did they dictate it to someone they pay to...dictate things to? These are the things I am curious about.

I don't really care who they are wearing or what they've been nominated for previously. I'm just curious about where their paper came from.

I am going to toot my own horn

I have lost 5 pounds. I know that doesn't seem like a lot, especially with how far I have to go. But I am proud of myself. I made a goal to write everything I eat down, and so far I have done it. I have also made a goal to go to my Boot Camp class on Tuesdays at the YMCA. That class kicks my ass. As it should.

I have made some good decisions this week. For example, when I gave blood I knew they would have a delicious little selection of cookies & cupcakes in the canteen afterwards. Instead, I brought my own serving of pineapple in for my "perk me up" food. The vampires were impressed. Boo-yah cupcake.

I know 5 pounds isn't much when I have a goal of 89. You may say, "Em, 89 pounds?! You don't need to lose 89 pounds?" To you I say, no, not 89 pounds. 94 pounds. Remember, I lost those 5 already!" But I will get there. I'm doing it the hard, good old-fashioned way. Portion control & exercise. No, I may not ever wear a triangle bikini, but so what. I will be 94 pounds less fat than I once was!

Goooo me! So, be my cheerleader. This could be a long road, friends.

Happy Anniversary & a Farewell

So, as some of you may know, last week we ventured approximately 8 hours to Kansas to say farewell to Jake's dad. Jake's dad, who is a prominent attorney here in town who has the corner office on the 9th floor of a downtown building with an amazing view, decided to trade that in for a dog tag and some combat boots. Yes, even though he's been retired from the military, done his duty, and should be gearing up for his retirement from his real world job, he decided to get back in & go overseas....to Iraq.

I'm very proud of all the men & women who serve in our military...it's something I know that I could never do myself, and so I am grateful and thankful that there is someone to do the job. However, I just can't fathom or comprehend what Jake's dad is doing. It makes no sense to me. I'll never understand it because I've only & will only ever experience this side of it...the side that gets "left behind." I pray that his journey is speedy and safe...I pray everyday for all of our soldiers and their families...and even though I have been through it on this end of things, and my husband so adamantly loves and believes in our military, I still cannot truly understand the pull and the loyalty soldiers like Jake & his dad have.

In other news, Jake & I celebrated our 3rd anniversary while there. It was *FABULOUS* (please note, I say this with the most sincerest sarcasm). I don't even know what the name of the town we were staying in was, but I think it had the word "Junction" in it...and we all know that any city that has the word "Junction" in it can't be good. Our special day consisted of a dinner at a super cheesy Ponderosa-esque steak buffet with nasty food & badly dressed people wearing strange shirts. My favorite shirt said "Not everything in Kansas is flat" obviously right across the chest of this girls' shirt. CLASSY. We were entertained by a child there who decided it'd be cool to pick up his broccoli & hold it in front of his eyes & say "Look, Mom!" and "These meatballs are the best!" and then, after making a strange face & noise at his brother said "Did that look more like a frog or a duck?" After that we roamed around Wal-Mart for a good 45 minutes. Jake's brother & I set off all of the noisemaking toys in the Valentines aisle 3 whole times. Then, that evening, Jake & I were lucky enough to get to share a room with his brother, as the friend who had shared it with him the night previously had checked out & headed to Kansas City. Lemme tell ya...we have the most memorable & spectacular wedding anniversaries EVER.

EVER.

The Company Cookbook

I don't care how many times I see this...I crack up everytime!

The Company Cookbook

Do you ever just have one of those days?

Yesterday was my day...and I just broke down and bawled. I had been feeling good, did some shopping, watched American Idol, worked out, and then had sat down with some reading material & tea & *BAM* I'm a big mess.

Life is a struggle right now. Jake & I are dealing with issues that are SO painful...and everyday I have to thank God for what I do have, and not be disappointed about what I don't have...but somedays it's hard. It's hard not to compare myself to others. It's hard not to hate people who abuse and neglect what they have. And it's hard to understand why we have been given this cross to bear. There are no easy answers.

I pray for miracles, but I cannot expect them. I can ask for guidance, but I am at the point where I don't know what I am asking for. I am looking for a sign to show me the way, and I just can't see it yet. I guess I need prayes...for strength, for peace, for God's will...

I love being a girl

OK. So boys...if you're easilly weirded out by "female hygiene issues," turn away now. Otherwise, continue on.

Ladies...you understand. That lovely yearly "physical" as they like to call it, that we all must go through. When we get older they will stick our boobs between cold metal trays & squish them until we get tears in our eyes. Yearly we put ourself through this humiliation.

Fact 1: I was discussing this with my husband. If a man is to get his genetalia checked out, he can stand, or sit, comfortably, in pretty much any position he chooses. He can do the standing up, hands on the hips stance. "Here it is...check it out!" He can do the sitting down crossing his arms stance. "I don't care, do what you have to do." He can even do the "Captain Morgan" one leg up stance if he so chooses. "Ahhhhhhhhh." All while having his genetalia inspected (Unzip, turn your head & cough, *coughcough* zip.)

We, as women, must endure supreme humiliation to have our genetalia inspected. First, we must face the ever-present, always nagging question that we all go through around this time....

SOCKS OR NO SOCKS

I always struggle with this. Should I wear socks or not wear socks? Girls...you KNOW what I'm talking about! I myself prefer the sock route. Even if it's summer and I'm wearing sandals, I will pack a pair of socks in my purse so that, even though practically the rest of me is naked, I can be a bit modest by clothing my feet. At least I can be kind enough to wear socks while the Doctor has his face in my va-jay-jay, right?

Fact 2: There is no way to look lady-like, refined, or well-mannered when you are in the stirrups. Men will never understand the embarassment of this position. First they make you wear the stiff, nasty robe that is in THE most horrendous color and probably has some sort of stain that leaves you wondering "What is THAT?!" Then they give you "the sheet" to make you feel really modest (usually made of paper, but sometimes made of some 2 thread count rough stuff that might as well be a burlap sack). And let's not forget that it must be required to keep the room freezing cold. So you're sitting there waiting for the Doctor shivering, but additionally breaking out in a sweat. You better have picked some cute socks and done your hair, because the rest of this "ensemble" doesn't cut it for anyone. When there is a courtesy knock at the door you know what is coming. Feet up, lay back, scoot your butt to the end of the table. OK...keep scooting. Ok, your butt's not QUITE to the end of the table...keep scooting. Little more....butt needs to be at the end of the crinkly paper....GOOD! Seriously. This is THE most uncomfortable position EVER. And humiliating. I'm not even going to go through what they do to you after you scoot to the end of the table....

Men....we do this on a regular basis! Have some compassion for your wife, girlfriends, sisters, mothers, friends that must endure this craziness! Be nice to us. Give us hugs. Tell us how fabulous our hair looks and buy your girl some cute socks.

Keep your undies in a bunch!

So I was reminiscing today about our 2nd Anniversary, which was really the first one we got to celebrate together. Jake was home from the war, it was February of 2006, and we decided we'd go out and have a super-special date night.

We were going to Savitris, a fancier restaurant downtown, and were looking forward to celebrating. So of course for super-special date nights, you must dress the part. Jake was even wearing a tie, and I decided on a black strapless dress with a sweater over it. Being as it was February, of course a lady must wear stockings. So, being somewhat festive and somewhat a freak, I decide on fishnet thigh highs and the little underoos with the garter belts. It was hot. I was hot. And my husband was going to know it.

So we get in his car, I make sure he knows whats up, and we make our way downtown. We park at the Figge to walk to the restaurant, but as we're walking, I begin developing a problem. The cute little knickers I decided on have begun slipping...Perhaps I hadn't adjusted the belts long enough, and the motion of walking wasn't helping the situation. Either way, the sexy little undies were working their way OFF of me.

"Um, honey," I say, demurely. "I'm having issues." He looks at me like "Issues?" And I say, "My underwear is falling off." His attempts to snag them & pull them back up are futile, and they stay below my bum as we walk laughing into the restaurant. I'm thinking, "This is alright...I'll just keep my coat on, beeline it to the bathroom & fix this issue before these babies go falling to the floor, pulling my fishnets with them." Once inside, there aren't but a few tables occupied, but all the waitstaff is male. And one of them promptly asks me for my coat. I think I looked at him with a crazed look like "My coat?! You want my coat?!" But I carefully took it off and squeezed my legs together as we made our way to the table. As long as they weren't peeking out from below my hemline, I'd be safe...and luckily my body is in no shape for a micro-mini.

Upon sitting at the table, Jake & I are quietly surveying Savitris to find the bathroom, whereupon we find out, is down the stairs. Impossible. I can't do stairs...they will SURELY fall down, tripping me up in my heels, and I'll end up with my bare ass up in the air in a tangled mess of fishnets, garters, and embarassment. Nothankyou.

So, I survive the entire anniversary meal not really wearing underpants. It was the most fabulously funny dinner I've EVER had.

Black & White

I came to a realization last night. Everyone, no matter WHO they are or what they look like in real life, just looks better in photos in black & white. When you take a picture of someone in color, sure you can comment on their beautiful eyes, or the boldness of their sweater, or the sunshine in their hair...but when you look at photos in black & white it just looks SEXIER. And, many visible surface flaws are simply "erased" when you look at the same photo in black & white. Shocking I know.

Faithful Friend

Early this morning, our family lost a beloved member. Our 14 year old German Shepherd/Golden Lab mix, Nike, passed away. He was a good and faithful dog through to the end...he waited all day until my mom had come home, and wouldn't even lay his head down, waiting for her to get there. Last night we all were at my parents for Christmas dinner, and afterwards, we all laid in the dining room with him, petting him and telling the stories we remember that best describe his life with our family over the years. How Nike wouldn't let the first guest to our house after Dylan was born, Jan the Avon lady, near the basinette where he lay. How he won many races with my mom and was her best running partner. How he would try to break up the silly squabbles between siblings over the years by placing himself between the two of us.

It is so hard to lose a pet. I know my mom will be lost without him. But he'll always be in our hearts, and we'll remember him as the best joggin' dog that he was...and the faithful guard dog who protected us.

http://www.indigo.org/rainbowbridge_ver2.html

A Journey of A Thousand Miles Begins with a Single Step - Lao Tzu

How many times have I failed? Many. More importantly, how many times have I tried and failed? Just as many. How many times have I found success? Once I can think of, but I'm sure there are more I'm just not counting.

I need a new me. A me I can be proud of. A me I don't have to "hide" behind.

I'm talking about my weight. I've never been some twiggy, stringy girl, and I realize I never will be. A dream of wearing a "triangle bikini" will most likely never be reality for me. But being a healthier, better, and a happier person I can work on.

I've joined gyms, I've done Weight Watchers, and watched my dad & aunt go through gastric bypass surgery. I know and HAVE the tools to succeed. My problem is I just don't use them. Why? I'm scared. Scared to try because I may fail. So in essence, scared of failure. I look at others who have worked hard to shed the pouds, and I am so inspired and happy for them. But I never think "That could be me." I hear them get compliments, I see their old figures melting into new sizes, which follows with new wardrobes. The want for a new wardrobe should be drive enough! As it is, I stick with accessories...but you can only have so many pairs of shoes, crazy socks, and purses to make you happy.

I've decided I want that to be me. It'd be nice to get a compliment that I can believe. It'd be wonderful to be able to go into any store in a mall and know that I will find something that fits. It'd feel good to be proud of me, and not take on the "Fat Girl" persona to make people laugh.

We just joined the YMCA, and I want to work hard. I want to be there, put my time in, and feel good. I want to watch myself change. I want to choose the baked chicken and steamed veggies at a restaurant and not con myself into thinking I "deserve" the burger with fries. I want to learn how to reward myself with things other than food. I want a healthy relationship with food. Not one where it bullies me and I bully it back. I guess I want a lot...but most of all I want to be happy. I want to be happy with myself. I want to be happy with my clothes. And I want to make peace with food. I am 25 years old and I don't want to give up on myself yet. I just need to stay motivated, stay positive, and stay on track. "Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there."

1 Cor. 10:12-13

Hottie Stats Boy & Ethel

Here's a good story for you.

There once was a girl named....well, let's change her name to keep her anonymous. We'll call her Ethel. There once was a girl named Ethel. Ethel really hated math. However, the University of Iow....well, let's change it to keep Ethel anonymous....the University of Hawkeyes required that all psychology majors take STATISTICS (duh duh duh <---scary music). So Ethel enrolled in (duh duh duh) STATISTICS.

Ethel was actively "involved" with someone who was the perfect boy, however, there was this boy that Ethel liked to call "Hottie Stats Boy" in her (duh duh duh) STATISTICS class. It made it all the worth while to go to class, even though she hated it. Why did SHE care what the probability of throwing a 6 was if you tossed a die 100 times?!

Anyway, Ethel really enjoyed "stalking" hottie stats boy, even though she was romantically involved with someone else. In fact, she would be very sneaky & liked to think of herself as a spy or a secret agent when she'd go on her semi-covert ops to find out things like "What is Hottie Stats Boy's real name?" There are numerous ways to go about finding this information....such as timing the delivery of her homework paper onto the pile at the exact moment AFTER he has laid his down (not an easy task considering the number of people in the section). After sorta-kinda seeing what his name was, Ethel was able to use her powers on "Stalker-Net" AKA the online university phone/email info that you can look up. Only problem was, there were 2 boys with the name(s) that Ethel thought might be Hottie Stats Boy's real name. So...then she decides to be a super sleuth and call 411 INFORMATION. Oh yeah, Ethel did. The only problem....? The boys with the similar names....BOTH lived on the SAME STREET. So...Ethel had to inconspicuously follow Hottie Stats Boy home from class one day to see where he lived. Then, she began taking walks by his house....just for exercise....

Anyway, long story short, Ethel thought Hottie Stats Boy was pretty cute....Ethel's romantically involved other thought that Ethel was crazy for stalking Hottie Stats Boy, but found her charades and escapades quite laughable and endearing. One day Ethel finally got up the courage to talk to Hottie Stats Boy in class...she mentioned that she noticed that he had missed a class. Hottie Stats Boy replied, "Oh....yeah....(in his dumbest voice ever)....I was sunbathing in my backyard & fell asleep."

UGH. Ethel was shocked. Why did he sound so....stupid?! Why had she broken the HOTTIE barrier by trying to communicate with him. Things were better between Ethel & Hottie Stats Boy before she began attempting to engage him in meaningful conversation. After he spoke those words...the affair was over. He just WASN'T as hot anymore to her.

So...live & learn my friends...live & learn....

Here's to 9 years!

Well, it seems crazy to even mention it, but on November 25th, Jake & I unofficially "celebrated" being "together" for 9 years. 9 years....that means, 9 years ago I was a sophomore in high school...naive, skinny (well, much skinnier than I am now...), boy crazy, and I've had lots of different hair-dos since then.

Little did I know that the boy I met at the National Catholic Youth Conference in Kansas City 9 Novembers ago would someday end up to be the love of my life, the one I'd marry, and the man I couldn't be more proud of for his sense of loyalty and duty to those in distress.

We spent our "anniversary" apart of course - he working the streets & me helping a friend address invitations for her wedding. Still, when I came downstairs at 5 AM the next morning to feed the dog, a bouquet of red roses and a card sat on the counter waiting for me.

*SIGH* The butterflies in your tummy feeling never gets old...

Working retail...

So I've been considering getting a second job. Something to work evenings & maybe weekends, while Jake is working to keep me busy, meet some people, and gain some extra cash. Honestly, I haven't been thinking about it THAT seriously, but I have been thinking about how I want a new house, wish I had more money, and could pay a housekeeper.

First of all, I DID have a cleaning lady to my house today. It was a fabulous feeling to know she was slaving away at my house with scrubbing buckets & Lysol while I worked here. I think paying someone to do shit work is an amazing concept. I highly advocate it. Actually, since we have an extra bedroom in our house, I was thinking maybe we should see if there's some trustworthy college student out there that needs free room & board in exchange for being my personal maid. I would LOVE that.

Anyway, back on the topic…I was thinking of all of the places that are currently hiring for holiday help. One of my favorite and least favorite jobs was working at a bookstore in the mall. There are a number of good and bad things about working at such a place. I will try to outline them here:

Working in a mall you see ALL SORTS of people. Gang bangers, old ladies, screaming children, dads who have no clue what they're even doing at a mall, etc. My favorites were Christmas Eve at 4:58 PM the men who would walk through the doors and be like "Give me something…anything…." and we'd hand them a $50 coffee table book on any number of topics that we had strategically placed by the "cash wrap" for just these sorts of "emergencies."

Working for a corporation, you have to follow what they dictate. For instance, if they tell you to say something when you answer the phone "Goodafternoon,XBookstore,whereyoubuy4bargainbooksandgetthe5thonefreethisisemilyhowcanIhelpyou?!," you have to do it. And don't even get me started on those "Secret Shopper" people.

No. We can not give you change for a dollar to get a stroller. And no, we can't give you your money back for that annoying game/ride/junk food machine that ate your quarters. Yes, we'd be glad to sell you one of these overpriced chocolates for $0.49 plus tax so we can open our register and give you change.

I really loved the people who would come into the store and immediately after crossing the threshold from tile to carpet would have this blank look on their faces. When I'd approach and ask if I could help them find something they'd say, "A book."
Me: "Wonderful….well, you're in the right place, we have thousands of titles!"
Customer: "Darn it…I just forgot what the title of the book was. A friend recommended it."
Me: "Well, if you could tell me a little about it, I may be able to help you locate it."
Customer: "It's red."
Me: "What's red?"
Customer: "I think the cover has red on it."
Me: "Anything else? We have a lot of titles with 'red on it'"
Customer: "Um….I think it has the word 'and' in the title?"
Me: "Wow. That would be like, half the books we have in here." *THIS IS THE POINT WHERE I WANT TO PUNCH THEM IN THE OVARIES.*

This is another favorite story of mine. As many of you may know, "adult magazines" are sold at bookstores. They are usually kept on the top shelf of the racks, so that children and pre-pubescent boys cannot reach them with their grimy little fingers. One day I noticed a group of MAYBE 14 year olds giggling around the magazine rack. It was pretty obvious what they were doing. 3 of them eventually ditched their friend and made that unlucky guy come up to the register to make his purchase. I was going to relish this one.
Customer: *Throws nudie mag up onto counter like he's "cool" and like I have no idea what he's doing.*
Me: *Very nonchalant.* "May I see your ID?
Customer: Oh, I need an ID to buy this? (His voice may have even cracked).
Me: Uh, yeah you need to be 18 to purchase this magazine.
Customer: Oh, sure…(He fumbles with his tiny wallet. It may have even had Velcro on it. I see him flip PAST his LEARNERS PERMIT.) Jeez…it looks like I left my DRIVERS LICENSE in my CAR. (He stresses DRIVERS LICENSE and CAR like someone would if they DIDN'T have a DRIVERS LICENSE or a CAR.)
Me: Well, when your mom comes to pick you up, maybe you could ask her for it. I'll keep this back behind the counter for you. *FLASHES 1,000 watt smile*

And the best story yet. As some of you may know, when I was 14-16 I was a little "boy crazy" shall we say? Well, at one point I was in a theatre production of Sweeney Todd. The guy who played Sweeney was this guy at least 10 years older than me, dark, brooding, etc. He NEVER talked to us, the lowly high school stage fillers. That's why he was so attractive to me, perhaps? It was ridiculous really, but I had this HUGE stalkerish crush on him. Well, one night after one of our performances, we had a fancy reception at a local bistro. I attended with the other high school cast members. "Sweeney" attended with HIS WIFE. He had a WIFE. How could he have a WIFE when there are perfectly beautiful 15 year olds like me?! I was crushed. I talked crap about this woman all night long with my high school friends, shooting her dirty looks, picking apart her every move and her fashion for the evening, and wondering how he could pick someone like HER when there were people like ME in the world?! The worst thing about this whole thing? She totally KNEW I was jonesing on her husband, and she was perfectly happy to antagonize me, or so I thought. Anyway, long story short, when I went to get a job at said bookstore, who do I have the interview with but SWEENEY'S WIFE. Yeah…and she even HIRED me!? She was my boss. And she didn't hate my guts. And I was SO completely embarrassed…too embarrassed to ever hate her. The best part about it was that she was a totally sweet woman.And very gracious about NOT ever mentioning my embarrassing actions (such as writing love notes to her husband along with making lipstick kisses on his door with the rest of the "7th Floor Whores" (as we were affectionately called because of our 7th floor dressing room at the Capital Theatre). Lesson learned: Don't ever flirt with married men. You never know who their wife could be! :)

So….perhaps I'll go see about getting a job at a bookstore again. Or maybe I should just be content with my pool boy, Raul…

Tired of litterbugs?

I don't know how many times I've been mindlessly driving down the road, when all of a sudden a car in front of me will toss any number of items out of their car window. Have you ever had to swerve to avoid someone else's McDonald's bag filled with their garbage as it's hurtling through the air? It's getting ridiculous. And, living on one of the busy streets in town, I really loathe having to pick up old cigarette packs, sticky Wendy's drive through cups, diapers, you name it...It's rude, it's irresponsible, and it's just dirty.

Iowa has now enacted a helpful little system. When you see someone littering from their vehicle, you can call a toll free number and report it. Once it has been reported (you leave as much info as possible - time, location, description of litter, vehicle description, and licenese plate number) they will send the "offender" a letter and a garbage bag! :) No further action is taken & it's mostly just a little "helpful reminder" that someone noticed their naughtiness. I was so excited by this news, that I promptly put the phone number into my cell phone, so that the next time I saw someone doing this distardly deed I could report them. And, I am happy to report that I did just that last week!

I was sitting at a stop light, and all of a sudden a car zooms past me, and out flies some garbage. I dialed the number, listened to their message, and reported what I had seen. I am hoping that it might make a difference and that people will start thinking about how their actions affect others. So many times I've seen adults with young children tossing items out of their car windows. What is that sort of behavior teaching our children?!

*SIGH* I know I sound like an old fogey, but seriously, just be responsible for your actions and place your garbage in the appropriate places. Don't people realize when they don't make it THEIR problem it becomes everyone ELSE'S problem?

Just in case you're all wondering, the phone number to call & report litterbugs is 1-888-NO-LITTR (665-4887). Learn it, live it, love it. For more info, go to KeepIowaBeautiful.com.

To touch a life

I found out the other day that my 6th grade German teacher had passed away. Working at the church, I knew that his family would be holding his funeral here. Today my teacher's family was here to plan his funeral. I had mentioned to Monsignor that this teacher had taught me the Hail Mary in German, the colors of the rainbow, the German National Anthem, and some Christmas carols. During the family's preparations, Monsignor must have mentioned it to them. When he came into my office to make some copies, he said the family would like to hear me say the Hail Mary in German.

Put on the spot, I immediately turned him down, thinking only of myself, and saying I'd be too embarrassed. It was over 12 years ago that I learned these things, and while I pride myself on having a good memory, I'd be making a fool of myself in front of them if they understood German and sat there idly listening to me butcher the words of a beautiful prayer. Monsignor encouraged me, saying they were "looking forward" to hearing me say the prayer for them.

Reluctantly I agreed and followed him into the dining room to meet with the grieving family. There sat my teacher's three sons, and they asked if I'd please say the prayer for them. I told them what their father had taught me many years ago…even that I still remembered how to say "I need a sip of water." Then, they asked if I'd please say the prayer. So I tried…I did my best. It sounded so strange to me, as I haven't said it aloud for, probably, 12 years. As I said the prayer, one brother closed his eyes, another had tears welling up in his. When I had finished they told me thank you, said it was beautiful, etc. I left sheepishly to continue working at my desk.

As Monsignor ushered them out, they were thanking me again, and the one with tears in his eyes said "Emily, thank you. I will never, ever forgot those words you said today…"

How touching. How nice to know that a simple gesture like praying in another language and showing these men what I was taught years ago by their father, would be such a blessing to them in their time of grief. I was humbled today.

Proof of how awesome I am

You are just jealous of me because you didn't spill a full glass of ice water all over the projects on your desk, your keyboard, yourself, and the floor today at work....yeah...I was sitting there with a wet crotch for about an hour. However, prior to this mishap, I was having a very good "I have good hair, I have a good outfit, and I even smell kinda nice today" day.

Also, in case you're looking for a surefire way to totally kill the mood and make sure there's NO chance your significant other/spouse would like to have sex with you some evening, just bust out your junior high instrument & start jazzing around on it, playing such songs as You Are the Sunshine of My Life, Tomorrow (Theme from Annie), Gonna Fly Now (AKA the theme song from Rocky), or What's Love Got to Do With It? Pretty sure I REALLY turned him on tonight with my best flute renditions of 80's pop music...

See, now don't you wish you were as awesome as me?

Just some ramblings...

1) I got a new 'do. The girl worked friggin miracles on my head. I'm hot now. That IS a miracle. Praise me now.

2) GO HAWKS! Enough said.

3) I want to be a mom. There. I said it. I think it'd be hilarious to have kids. They're just funny little creatures. Hopefully, they won't have underdeveloped raptor arms because of all the margarita drinking I do (which isn't much).

4) New season of Nip/Tuck. It's strange...but it always is. I think next week's show is going to be fabulous. Didn't see the Scientology aspect coming. If you don't watch it, you should get on that...

5) I <3 spicy chicken sandwiches. Buffalo Wild Wings, here I come.

September 11, 2001

5 years after this horrible tragedy, we still remember. The QC Times recently asked readers to share their story...I emailed them with my experiences that day, and they asked me to be a part of their coverage.

My "story" is in the paper/website on Monday, September 11, and my video interview is available online through this link.

http://www.qctimes.com/articles/2006/09/11/other/911/doc450328a159eac689659317.txt

Complete 9/11 coverage can be found at www.qctimes.com/other/911

True Story

I didnt believe people ACTUALLY did this outside of horrible teen movies.

We were at a get-together with some friends in Bettendorf hanging out on a back patio around 11:30 PM. We werent being excessively loud, and besides, it was a Saturday night on a holiday weekend. All of a sudden we hear the neighbors start slamming the windows shut. Up & down, up and down. Then we see lights in the room closest to the patio on the 2nd floor flashing on & off (a bit like a strobe light). Then come the animal noises (Im not kidding you). We were being barked, meowed, and roared at. I'm thinking, OK, neighbors whatever sorts of kinky sex you have, please dont involve US. Lights flashing, windows slamming, and animal noises-wild! At this point I'm still thinking were dealing with coherent adults that are just being childish.

Soon, the window flies open again, the lights are flashing, the drapes are pulled back, and all of a sudden we see in the window, BARE NAKED ASS. WOAH. Lights continue to flash, people at our party are now more interested in whats going on in the 2nd story window than they are with drinking & conversating on the patio. Jake decides to go get his handy dandy police flashlight from his truck, and were ready for them the next time they fling the window open. This time we see something actually coming OUT of the window. Jake shines the flashlight onto the 2nd story window. It's a leg. A teenage girl leg. Then another leg comes out. Then the legs start spreading. Jake quickly turns the flashlight off. We've already seen enough overexposed teenager for the night, thankyouverymuch. The legs go back inside, and the lights go on & off again a number of times. Then, we hear something come out the window. Jake cautiously shines the flashlight this time and we all see, hanging from the window, sets of bedsheets tied together, that hang almost to the ground. Next thing we know, we see these girls attempting to shimmy out of the 2nd story window using the bedsheets! The people at the party have all been witnessing the crazy antics & all start yelling at them to stop, theyre going to fall, kill themselves, you cant REALLY climb out a 2nd story window on bedsheets like you see in the movies, etc. The girl pulls herself back in the window then sticks her face out & SHHHHHH!'s us! This gets us laughing. Really, honey. You have now kicked your house multiple times. You have slammed the window & made numerous animal noises. If your parents ARE home, they have, by now, undoubtedly heard you. If you are TRULY trying to sneak out of your house, might we suggest creeping down the stairs & just using the front door?! Soon after we were shushed they went downstairs & raided the refrigerator for a midnight snack, while the forlorn bedsheets continued to hang out the window.

It was quite amusing. Next time, I'll let them try it, instead of trying to stop them & getting shushed. You never know where there could be a market for stuff like that. I could have won $10,000 on Americas Funniest Home Videos, or perhaps started a website called TeenTumbles.com. It just cracks me up to know that they were actually attempting it. My question is, what were the bedsheets TIED to? Can you imagine some 150 pound girl hanging herself out a 2nd story window on bedsheets as her little single bed they are tied to goes flying across the room?!

Baby Brother goes to Junior High

"MORNING WOOD!"

I wonder if these are the words my baby brother will hear, just like I did, on his first day of Junior High. OK, OK, I know all you Davenporters are saying "It's called Intermediate. We weren't cool enough to get to say we were in Junior High." To you I say, whatever. My baby brother is going to junior high today.

I truly was a little anxious for him. 6th grade! In a brand new, big school. With big 8th grade boys, and even scarier, 6th, 7th, and 8th grade girls who are looking more and more like 16 year olds by the day. UGH...that thought just makes my stomach hurt. Apparently, when he went to unpack your backpack night, he was barraged by "hellos" from everyone who walked by him. He had girls "following" him & giggling to tell him hi, and he got numerous comments on his new haircut (which is a good thing, as it was very overgrown). He's a hottie. I have to face it. My baby brother is total, heartbreaker, hottie. He's like THE popular kid. The totally popular, nice, super sweet, cool, hottie guy. And he plays the drums. UGH....be still my heart.

He told me there's a 6th grade "fling" (AKA dance). He's mortified because my mom signed up to help. She won't be in the dance or anything, she'll be serving refreshments. But still. How unhip is that? And, he has a girlfriend. They email each other back & forth. I gave him some tips on internet dating. For instance, always end with a question...that way the conversation never stops. She always has a reason to email you back. *SIGH* Young love. When he told me about the "fling" I told him about the 8th grade dance. Yeah, you all remember it. When I mortified myself by asking Brian to go with me? What? You don't recall? I'll remind you of the horrors.

Brian...my best friend. I thought I'd ask him. I'd be all sweet & nice. Sure I had a bit of a crush...but whatever. I'd stick a special little note inside his saxophone case when he wasn't looking. I was totally nervous...embarassed about it...but I sucked it up & did it. With all the guts it took to ask him, there was no way he could say no. Big mistake. Not only did he shoot me down, he went as far as asking a 7th grader (A SEVENTH GRADER) to the dance instead. Crushed. Heartbroken. I told my baby brother to nevereverever break a girls' heart by doing something so jerky as to invite a lowly 7th grader to an 8th grade dance.

I hope his first day went well. I hope no one tripped him in the hall or slammed his locker shut or made him drop his books. I hope he got French fries if he wanted French fries and that he didnt forget his locker combo or his lunch pin number or where he was supposed to go next. Perhaps Im being a smother motherbut I still cant help but think Wasnt he just going into Kindergarten?!