Swallowing Halloween

Ask me what I'm going to be for Halloween...GLAD when it's over!! I hate Halloween. I don't dress up, reluctantly decorate, and piss and moan about how expensive costumes are for my kids. Did I mention I have no self control?




I try very hard to wait until the last minute to buy candy, but dang it, I'm a Virgo! I may be prepared, even though I may not be trusted. Every year, it's the same ghoulish story: someone makes a little, teeny, tiny mouse hole in the bag...and that's all she wrote:( Where did all the baby Snickers go?

Eighteen Acres

I just kindled Eighteen Acres by former Washington Communcations Director, Nicolle Wallace...She was on Rachel Maddow last night and anyone who was kicked to the curb by Sarah Palin HAS to have a good story to tell!

All Grown Up!

For daughters out there near and far who try everything not to end up like their own mothers: give up and give in to the inevitable. I have been mocked for years about the way I clean, how I always have a certain little ritual that I don't even think about anymore. Well, my day of reckoning has arrived, in that I reckon I'm OK. My adorable daughter, who never met a dish she didn't dirty, who couldn't remember if there was carpeting in her bedroom (because it was always covered by clothes) and who simply moved on to the next bathroom if one was becoming unpleasant, asked me for her first, very own pair of rubber gloves. I weep. 

Good News/Bad News...

The good news is, I still have a crush on my husband. The bad news is, I can't help but like that little flirt of thrill I get when I see another cute guy. My husband has absolutely nothing to worry about. This morning, as I was passing a hunky trainer at the gym, my mouth started to form the word "Hello!" but he beat me to the punch and said "'Morning!" which led me to respond with "Ham." I'm sure he didn't notice.

EUWWWWW

So, I was taking out the trash, rocked the wheels back and forth on the blue recycle bin, and as I pulled it away from the fence, I saw THREE COILED UP RATTLESNAKES!! My hands have just now stopped shaking enough to permit me to type. I called animal control emergency, and was cheerily greeted by a taped message that "all representatives are assisting other callers and my call would be answered in the order it was received." Oh REALLY? Who else has THREE RATTLESNAKES underfoot?! I finally gave up, and prefaced my call to 911 that I wasn't sure if this was a classic emergency but I didn't know who else to call. (Come on, it's not like I was complaining that my chicken McNuggets were cold...) The operator was most gracious, took my info and patched me right through to the fire department--Oh, Phew! Thank Goodness! I even spared a thought about running inside to brush my hair--but, alas. It was not to be. Firemen don't do snake removal. WHO ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH DOES? I have two kids, a little dog, a cat, and a husband--who doesn't take out the trash. Fortunately, my cries for help were heard, apparently far and wide! My heroes include a landscape guy, two dads, a real estate agent who happened to be in the neighborhood, and a young man walking his dogs. These superheroes were valiant in their efforts, brave beyond belief, fearless--albeit foolhardy. And they also looked like they were having a TON of fun. What the? Armed with nothing more than shovels and TesTosTerone, they kept trying to show me the fruits of their labor...the dripping, bloody, headless, squirming fruits. To their credit, they even offered me a RATTLE. I declined, thanking them ever so much!!

Mary EngleBLIGHT

WHY am I inexplicably cheered at the sight of perky little Scottie dogs, polka dots and red cherries?  It's hard to admit I have a purse-sized pack of tissues--swirled with pink rosettes and lime green curlicues, that are just too cute to actually ever use. While I imagine it is good to be queen, (I would hardly know)  
is that all it takes? 

Handle With Care

It's the kind of day when little things like a woman grasping her coffee mug around the mug portion of her beverage, totally ignoring the handle, bug me. Especially if that woman is me. I admit, I was cool. And by cool I mean affected. Take that Julie Roberts. She strikes me as the kind of woman who holds her mug in complete denial of the handle. My cup wasn't runnething over, but it was a pretty big mug. The warmth of my coffee must have produced some condensation in my full palm handshake. (I almost pretended it was some super-secret zen tea, [that I bought at an exclusive organic market that I rode my bike to after my bikram yoga class] filled with anti-oxidants that align my fifth chakra AND freshen my breath.) Shake being the operative word. I tripped (and not because my legs were wobbly from my imaginary yoga class). I am still discovering shards of how cool I am.