The Harsh Truth of the Camera Eye

I think that Mike Huckabee is a whack-job. However, when they make a movie about his life, I think Kevin Spacey should play him.
Honestly, I don't have as much to say about politics as my darling husband does, but here is what I think about Huckabee.
1) He thinks God is swaying the voters to put him in office. That's just crazy. Everyone knows that God is too busy backing Obama.
2) He thinks homosexuality is an abomination. Okay...that just means that we're going to find him soliciting gay sex in an airport bathroom in a few years.
3) His last name makes me laugh. Huckabee. C'mon. President Huckabee?

Angel, Angel, Down We Go Together

When I was a little girl, at the beginning of the Christmas season I would always ask my mother, "Aren't you excited about Christmas?" and she would always answer, "Honey, Christmas is for children." I vowed right then and there not to become a boring old grown-up who couldn't enjoy Christmas. Well, that just went right out the window this Christmas, or as my dear friend N calls it, "Stress-mas".



This particular day was, without a doubt, the zenith of stressful days...(keep in mind that this happened about a week before Christmas)

First thing in the morning Tony and I were fighting because he can't manage to put the cork-screw away after he opens a bottle of wine. Seriously. I mean, I can (sort-of) tolerate it when he doesn't put his dirty clothes in the hamper, or when he leaves the garage door open or doesn't hang up his coat...but when he does all of those things AND leaves the stupid fucking cork-screw on the counter right above the drawer where it actually belongs...well, that just made me want to take out his eyeball with the thing. And this fight wasn't even just a snide little comment on my part which would have been completely ignored by my husband, it was full-on yelling and dredging up past slights (by both of us, I might add lest I sound like some sort-of cork-screw wielding bitchy shrew). Thankfully the kids were at school so they didn't witness the insanity.

Then I went to my stupid-ass job, where everything went okay until 15 minutes before I left and the one person I work with that I do not like was really, really rude to me. I made a useless but pointed remark to her about it, but then I had to leave. Needless to say I thought of all sorts of wonderful come-backs in the car on my way to pick up Brenna from school, which just made me re-live the moment and made me madder.

So, in the car pick-up line at school I pulled out the newspaper and started to read it thinking that would calm me down. But NO!! The line moved forward and I didn't notice because I was reading my paper, so the bitch in the white family-van behind me honked and waved her arms in the air and the ugly bitch in the even uglier family van behind her whipped out of line and went around me--and when she got next to my Durango she stared at me and mouthed some choice words while she pulled in front of me. What the fuck? Who gives a shit if we move up a car-length or not? Besides, the idiot in the van behind me could see I was reading the paper, what was she so pissed off for? She could have just tapped the horn to get my attention and smiled at me when I looked at her in my rear-view mirror and I would have gladly moved up. Stupid bitch. I saw which kid got in her van when school let out and believe me, the extra car-lengths worth of steps he took didn't hurt his fat-ass any. From the looks of him, he should've been walking home just to get the exercise. I just wanted to gun my SUV into the back of the ugly mom's van in front of me and then throw it in reverse and smash the idiot behind me too. I tried to console myself with the fact that I probably weigh 50 pounds less than either of them, but since they were both still giving me dirty looks it wasn't easy.

Okay...on with the mardi-gras that was my day. I called Tony to find out if he had called his mother to find out what she wanted for Christmas and he informed me that she had slipped on the ice the night before and her neighbor took her to the hospital and now she was laid up with staples in her head and a concussion. Yikes! (On the funny side, Tony did suggest that maybe we should get her a helmet for Christmas.) So I told Tony to go straight to her house after work and take her some dinner. I would take Brenna to dance, then Bronte and I would pick her up and we would go to The Fortune Kookie for pot-stickers (just us girls!) and then we would drive to church so Brenna could rehearse with the adult choir because she was singing in a trio for part of the Christmas Cantata that Sunday. Whew!

Jump forward to The Fortune Kookie. The girls and I had just ordered when my cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and it said it was my mother's house. Seeing as she lives with my Alzheimer's ridden father who doesn't hold conversations anymore (sadly) I figured she just called to chat. She calls me upwards of 5 times a day sometimes. Sometimes she calls to tell me what is on TV. For example...in the month of December right up until Christmas Eve I got a phone call every night from my 77 year old mother. The phone would ring at 6:55 p.m. every night and she would say, "Charlie Brown Christmas is on channel 2 in 5 minutes. I just thought the girls would like to watch. OK. Bye!" Granted, it wasn't a Charlie Brown Christmas every night. Sometimes it was Frosty the Snowman or Christmas With The Kranks, but I'll be darned if there wasn't a Christmas special on every single night From December 1st to the 23rd. When I was a kid all we got was Charlie Brown, Frosty and The Grinch (the good one, not the one with Jim Carrey...that one was just stupid) and the Santa driving away on the Norelco electric razor. Honestly, that was genius advertising. It made me, an 8 year old girl, put a Norelco electric razor on my Christmas list. My parents must have been worried...
Anyway...so my cell phone rang and I saw it was my mother so I answered, "Hi Mom! What's up?" There was a long-ish pause and then some accented male voice asks, "Do you know (insert my parents full names here)?" Immediately I think that they are being held captive by some crazy, high drug dealers. You may laugh, but you do not know what kind of trouble my stupid sister has been in....
On with the saga; I asked the drug dealer who he was and what he wanted. The voice said (and I shit you not...this was the exact wording) "I'm a policeman. Your mother choked and she was taken to the hospital in an ambulance. Your father is here alone; how soon can you get here?" Okay. Let's break this down...
1) My mother choked. She might be dead.
2) My father is alone. He doesn't know who anyone is anymore. The last time he was alone for a brief moment, he went out in 3 feet of snow in a robe and slippers looking for his mother.
3) Wait! My father is NOT alone. He is with some strange policeman in my parents house. The policeman has a gun.
4) I have no proof that the disembodied voice on the other end of the phone is an actual policeman so....
5) Yep. I'm back to the "my parents are being held hostage by a drug dealer" scenario again.

I responded by doing what anyone in this situation would do. I started to cry. Immediately my kids were under the table (we were in a booth..they were on one side and I was on the other) and on either side of me saying, "It's okay, mama. It's going to be okay." God in Heaven, I love those kids. In any case, it still didn't change the fact that I was in a restaurant miles away from my parents house and my husband was on his way to HIS mothers house because she had a concussion! What to do?
I asked the "policeman" to tell me what had happened and he haltingly told me that my mother was choking and the neighbor called 911. I asked him where that neighbor was and he told me that he was right there with my dad so I asked if I could talk to him. Well, he put my mom's neighbor on the phone and I recognized the voice so I felt somewhat better. Turned out my mom was alive but had a blockage in her throat so the paramedics took her to the hospital. Blah, blah blah...and then the cop was back on the phone asking me my full name, address, date of birth, etc. I started getting suspicious again because my stupid sister had stolen my identity once and...well, long story. I decided to just tell the cop my name and tell him I would call him right back when I figured out what to do. At that point our pot-stickers came and I told the kids to go ahead and eat while I made a couple of phone calls. They were crying too now, but I said everything was okay even though I was totally freaking out.
In a nutshell, this is what happened. I called Tony and he said he would drop the food off to his mom (who lives minutes away from my parents house) and get his mom's neighbor to come and sit with her. He would then go to my parents house and get rid of the stinking copper. (He didn't say it like that, but it would have been funny if he did. Not at the time, mind you...but later when re-telling the story.) Then we would figure out what was up with my mom and stuff. Whew! Thank God for Tony. He may be a total slob, but he is a wonderful caring man who would do anything for family. I chose wisely. (The next day my dear friend P told me he would have gone to be with my dad too and so would his sister. He said to call him anytime my parents needed anything. I chose my friends wisely, too.)
In the meantime, I called the cop back and told him my husband was on his way. During this conversation, the rest of our food came. I hadn't eaten even a bite of a pot sticker because I was so upset and now I was looking at almond chicken I couldn't eat either because I still didn't know where my mother was and what state she was in. While I was talking to the fuzz, my call waiting beeped. I clicked over and it was my mom! Yippee! she was fine, but she was at the hospital with no coat, no shoes and no way home. Plus she was at a hospital another 20 minutes past their house from where I was. Okay...what to do, what to do? I told her to call me back in 5 minutes because I needed to call Tony and see what to do. I knew Tony couldn't go get my mom because then he would have to take my dad and Tony drives a 2 seat Honda Del Sol, AKA, the Albatross. So, I called Tony and he said he was with my dad and the cop was still there and everything was fine. Hang on!! Call waiting!!! It was my mom who told me that her nurse said she would warm up some blankets and wrap my mom up and drive her home herself. So I clicked back to Tony and said that my mom would be home with the nurse within an hour. When I hung up, the food was all boxed up and I had spent no "girl time" with my kids. The waiter put the bill down with 3 fortune cookies on top of it. I gamely smiled and said, "Okay girls! Let's see what our fortunes are! If you don't mind, I am going to pick my cookie first because I haven't eaten anything yet." The girls smiled and nodded and asked if everything was okay with Gramma and Grampa. I told them that it was all worked out and not to worry...I just wanted to have them open their fortune cookies and try to salvage some fun out of this shitty night. So, we all opened our cookies and proceeded to pull out the paper fortunes. Except that my fucking cookie was empty!!! Seriously. I looked up and the girls looked at me like, "Is she going to cry again? What do we do?!!?!? We are children!"
Well, I just laughed. I laughed and laughed and the girls laughed and laughed. Bronte wanted to get me a different cookie but I really thought that one was perfect. Brenna started to make up fortunes for me, like..."Confucius say...you get no fortune!" and "Confucius say...empty cookie better than cookie with bug!"
It was a bad day...but it's over now!

What She Said

Sometimes the things my kids do just warms my heart and make me so proud. Sometimes, not so much...
On alternating Fridays my daughter Brenna has a group of friends that come over and hang out and eat dinner and then I take them all to a Bible Study I lead for 7th and 8th grade girls. Bronte usually has a friend come over too, but sometimes she doesn't. Last Friday was one of those evenings when she didn't. Brenna's friend, J, was the first one on the scene. J is always really sweet to Bronte and includes her in things when she is over. So, J and Brenna and Bronte are all sitting on the couch in the living room playing together. (When I say they were playing, what I really mean is that they were trying to figure out how to put together a Bratz doll. Have you ever seen those things? They are the sluttiest dolls I have ever seen, so of course Bronte loves them. The weirdest thing about them is, you don't change their shoes...you change their feet. The feet detach somewhere around the ankle and then you snap on new feet shod in some other stripper shoe style. And, unlike Barbie who actually has career aspirations, all a Bratz doll wants to be is a rock star, apparently. I mean, I have seen Veterinarian Barbie and Heart Surgeon Barbie and Teacher Barbie, but I have only seen one kind of Bratz doll...a rock star. That's just a nice way of saying "slut".)
Anyway, so the three of them are playing nicely when all of Brenna's other friends show up. Because they are all 12-13 years old there was lots of giggling and whispering and giddiness and they decided to go up to Brenna's room. So, Bronte thought she would go with them. Well, Brenna had other plans...now that her friends were over she didn't need Bronte any more so she told her friends, "Run! Come on! Let's shut the door before my sister gets up here!" And with that they piled into Brenna's room and slammed the door right in Bronte's face. Bronte tried to open the door, but Brenna was pushing against the door from the other side so Bronte couldn't get the door open. I watched all this from the bottom of the stairs while I was chatting with the mother of one of the girls. So, I knew Bronte's feelings were hurt, but I wanted to see how she would handle it. Bronte walked away from Brenna's door, in tears, and went into my room. I kept chatting with the mom while glancing upstairs every once in a while to see what was going to happen. Eventually Bronte came out of my room with a piece of paper which she slipped under Brenna's door. Then she turned around and went back in my room (still in tears). A couple of minutes later she came out and slipped another piece of paper under Brenna's door and then turned around and went in her room and shut the door. I said goodbye to the mom I was talking to and went in the kitchen to finish making dinner. Suddenly I heard Brenna's door fly open and I listened to my first born STOMP down the hall and down the stairs and into the kitchen. She looked at me, all indignant as only a 12 year old can be, and handed me the two pieces of paper Bronte had slipped under her door. Disgustedly she said, "You might want to talk to your daughter," and she stomped back upstairs.
I looked down at the first piece of paper and in Bronte's precious 6 year old handwriting I read, "Brenna, you hate me." That just makes me want to cry and give her a big fat hug. With tears in my eyes I looked at the second piece of paper. In the same sweet handwriting I read, "Kiss my Ass">

Okay. What does a mother do at this point? I died laughing, but I couldn't decide if I should be mad at her for writing this, or if I should high five her because her sister was being an incredible bitch and she should have kissed Bronte's ass. What to do? What to do? Luckily at that moment, Tony walked in the door, so I handed the notes to him, told him the story and let him handle it. Well, I should have known he was going to fuck it up! He called Bronte downstairs and looked into her adorable tear-streaked little face and told her she must NEVER say that Brenna hates her and that she was forbidden to tell anyone to kiss her ass, EVER! Well, of course Bronte started to cry again so I gave Tony a shitty look, hugged Bronte and told her that Brenna was being mean and that if she would just go wait in her room then I would send Brenna right up, lips puckered, all ready to kiss her ass because she deserved it. (I know Tony has a different version of this story, but this is MY BLOG and I will tell it however I want to. I'm telling you now...he made Bronte cry and that was bad! Bad daddy!)

In the meantime, I called Brenna down and told her that she was being a complete and utter brat. She maintained that she "didn't do anything" (imagine that being said in an annoying whine). I said, "Oh really? How about slamming the door in Bronte's face and telling all your friends to hurry up before your sister came in your room." She said, "I didn't say that." Okay. At this point I am getting really pissed off, but I am trying not to raise my voice so her friends won't hear me. I don't want to embarrass her, after all. I said, "Bronte said you did. Are you calling her a LIAR?" Brenna rolled her eyes (my favorite) and said, "I didn't say it to be mean." I said, "Really, Brenna. How did you mean it to sound? Wait! Let's go upstairs and ask your friends to clear this up. C'mon! I bet they will tell me what happened. Let's GO!" and my voice kept getting louder and louder. Brenna just repeated, "I didn't do anything."

That was all I needed to launch into my tirade. It went something like this:
You don't know how lucky you are to have a sister! You better be nice to her because someday she is going to be all you have and if you keep treating her like this she won't be there for you when you need her. So help me God, you better not sit there in Bible study tonight and tell us all how "Christ-like" you are because I will remind you about how you treated your sister tonight. Jesus never would have treated anyone the way you just treated your sister, so don't go all "Jesus-y" on me tonight. How can you even sit in Bible study knowing how crappy you just acted--turning your back on your sister like that! Maybe I'll just take your friends to Bible study tonight and you can stay home and think about what Jesus would have done. As far as I'm concerned, you ought to just get upstairs and BEG your sister to forgive you...and if that means you have to kiss her ASS then just pucker up! Now get upstairs and apologize.

So, maybe I went a little too far with the Jesus-y stuff...but it worked. Whatever. I'm not sorry.

In the meantime, Tony wanted to know where Bronte had heard the phrase "kiss my ass" and looked pointedly at me. Well, everyone knows that my favorite swear word is "mother-fucker" NOT "ass" so I get annoyed and told him it wasn't from ME so it must have been from HIM. Honestly, I could not figure out how she knew that phrase. Well...we can thank Zac Efron for this particular turn of phrase. Let me tell you why...

The day after the "Kiss my Ass" incident I was sitting down in my family room at the table where Bronte colors. Her papers and coloring books were all over and I was picking them up when I looked down and saw the words "Kiss My Ass" written (by Bronte) on one of the papers. I called Bronte over and said, "Bronte, why did you write this again after all the trouble it caused yesterday?" and she replied, "Mom I wrote that on Thursday." I shook my head and asked her, "Why?" Her answer is priceless. She said, "Well, my friend M was over, remember? I was telling her about the movie "Hairspray" and how hot Zac Efron was in it and I told her how he said a bad word in the movie. Well, M wanted to know what he said and I knew you would get mad at me if I said A-S-S so I wrote it down for her." (Incidentally, my 6 year old does, in fact, use the word 'hot' when she describes Zac Efron. I'm so proud.)

So, thank you, Zac Efron for this fine family memory.

Now My Heart Is Full

My daughter Brenna has a beautiful voice. She has a pitch-perfect alto voice. When she gets older, if she keeps singing, she will be the next kd lang....only not, you know....Canadian. Brenna sings a lot in church and every time she does, people cry because it's just so beautiful. When she gets complimented on her voice, Brenna just smiles and says thank you, but she really doesn't know what the big deal is because she's always been able to do it and it is totally effortless. When she was 5 she had her first big solo in church. The children's choir was putting on a big musical for Mother's Day and it was all about Noah's Ark. Brenna was the dove that Noah sent out to see if the flood was subsiding. She sang an entire song all by herself. It was the first time she was going to sing in public and she was using a microphone for the first time. Since she was so young (only 5, remember?) the microphone stand was set up right next to the piano. Well, the microphone was sound activated, so if your mouth was too far away from it, it would turn off. When Brenna got close enough to it to have her voice activate the thing she wasn't able to see it, so she would start to back up, and then it would stop working. So, during the performance, in front of 500 or so people, she would start to back away from the mic and the piano player (who was also the director) would quickly push her head back towards the mic. However, since the director was also playing the piano at the time, it was more like she would smack her on the back of the head so she could resume playing. Honest to God, we have it on video. Brenna is all dressed up in white with white wings singing sweetly about how she will "spread her wings and fly" and all of a sudden this hand comes out of nowhere and "SMACK"--Brenna's head goes jerking forward towards the mic. Yet, even at the tender age of 5, she never started laughing or stopped singing or even acknowledged that anything out of the ordinary had happened. At that point I figured she was one of two things:
1. a natural performer
2. autistic
Turns out she is number one, not number two. Honestly, it was a crap shoot. She has always been quirky, so autism wasn't totally out of the question. When she was little she used to keep a little ball of fuzz (like lint, or the cotton tip off a Q-Tip) with her at all times. Know where she kept it? Well, look at your right hand. See the first knuckle on your pinkie--the one towards the top? Okay, try to bend it without bending the other knuckle. Can't do it, can you? Well, Brenna could and she kept her little ball of fuzz in the bend of her pinkie, right behind that knuckle. She always had it with her. When she started pre-school, I bought her a silver necklace with a little silver basket (like a-tisket, a-tasket) on it and she kept her fuzz ball in there. Seriously. So...autism did cross my mind.

This is Brenna speaking in church a week ago. Isn't she gorgeous? See the blue streak in her hair? It is actually a hair extension that she had put in at a local salon. All the money the salon raises by putting blue extensions in hair goes to autism research. Brenna has a real soft spot for autistic kids because she gave up all her lunch hours in 6th grade to work with the autistic class. Turns out she has a real gift for communicating with those kids. Ironic, isn't it?

So, back to Brenna's singing...yesterday (and Friday night) her choir (one that she had to audition for and we pay for her to be in...they are really, really good) gave a Christmas concert. (In two weeks 25 of the kids from this choir will be singing in Chicago for the Joffrey Ballet's "Nutcracker". Not that I'm bragging but....ok. I'm bragging. But isn't that SO cool??) Tony and Bronte saw it Friday night (I was helping backstage) and my parents, Bronte and I saw it yesterday afternoon. It was risky taking my dad (who has Alzheimer's) because he is pretty well advanced in his disease and you just never know what he's going to do. For example, I had to tell him that, even if he knew the songs he really shouldn't sing along. (He does that a lot. In church if the choir is singing something he knows he will just chime right in...loudly) I also reminded him that he shouldn't talk out loud during the performance. The tickets were $22 and I didn't think the people around us would appreciate my addled father's commentary. Luckily most of the songs the choir sang were either really obscure or in Latin. No "Jingle Bells" for Brenna's snotty choir!

Ok...so here is my point. My dad was pretty good for the first half of the show, but he really lost it after the intermission. He kept talking...he had a coughing fit and then when my mother gave him a cough drop he sucked on it loudly and cleared his throat over and over...he kept tapping his feet. It was very difficult to keep him calm and my mom started to cry at one point because she was so frustrated. I couldn't leave the theater with him because it was too dark and we were in the middle of a row. He never would have understood the importance of a "quick and quiet getaway". So, I tried to keep him quiet so my mom could enjoy the show. At one point I was so frustrated and angry I started to cry. Then, suddenly it was like God flipped a switch in my heart. I stopped being angry and I just looked at my dad and said, "Please..." For whatever reason, that worked and he calmed down. I was still crying though, because the kids in the choir were coming down the aisles holding (fake) candles and singing "Silent Night" a cappella. It was so beautiful. Brenna just happened to stop and stand one aisle in front of us. My dad was quiet and calm...the choir was (I kid you not) angelic...and all was right in the world.

This Charming Man

I adore Kevin Spacey. I think he's a really great actor. American Beauty is one of my all-time favorite movies. When he is masturbating in the shower and his voice over says, "This will be the highlight of my day," I feel his frustration and anger and sadness all at once. He was fabulous in se7en; scared the crap out of me. Even his voice work in "A Bug's Life" was brilliant. He has made some really crappy movies too...KPax anyone? It was an interesting premise, so I can see why he might have thought, "Well, this could be really interesting," but it was utter crap. And how about "Pay It Forward"? I read the book recently (A friend lent it to me. In her defense, she did warn me it wasn't the greatest book, but I wasted a good 2 hours reading the crappy thing. I will never get those 2 hours back.) and I am telling you it was horrible and stupid. By the end of the book you were hoping for some gratuitous violence or something, which did happen. The little boy, who was the main character (who thought that if someone did something nice for you then you should go out and do something nice for someone else...not rocket science. Churches have been saying that for years...but in the fictional world of this retarded book, this kid's idea revolutionized the world. Give me a break; in the real world that simplistic idea wouldn't even get the kid on Oprah, and she loves that kind of shit.) anyway...where was I? Oh, the little boy gets shot and killed at the end of the book. Even though I feel slightly guilty saying this, I was kind-of like, "Yippee! That kid was a pain in my ass!" It was a fictional character, give me a break.

Anyway, I have to assume Kevin Spacey read the stupid book before he made the movie. Now I have always assumed Kevin was a bright man, but if he really thought the book would translate into a fabulous movie, then I now assume he is a moron. Plus, the character he plays in the stupid movie (which also stars Helen Hunt, as you can see from the picture. She bugs me. Her idea of acting is putting on a "serious face" and squinching up her eyes. Barf!) is a black man in the book. Not that the color of a man's skin makes any difference as far as their acting ability or whatever, but in the book the fact that he was black was pretty important to the story line. Without that little distinction his character is even lamer! How did Kevin figure he could overcome that little hurdle?

However, this is not even my point (can you believe I have a point?) about Kevin Spacey. My point is that I pretty much respect him as an actor. Let me remind you again of his brilliant work in "American Beauty" and "L.A. Confidential" or even "A Time To Kill"!! Okay. This Christmas you can see him in "Fred Claus".What the...?!?! Even the trailers (which are supposed to show the best parts of any given movie) are bad. Didn't anyone ever tell Kevin NEVER to be in a movie starring frickin' SANTA? That just reeks of stupid-career-move. The man has 2 Oscars, for crying out loud, and now he is in a movie with SANTA? And just look at the lame "I'm the serious actor in a Christmas movie" glasses he is wearing in the photo. I am so disappointed.I hope he got paid well, because I have read some of the reviews of this movie and, well...let's just say, it's no "Elf".

Panic!

You know when the perfect time is to tackle a major project, such as cleaning out a huge drawer full of 5 years worth of "I have no idea where to put this so I'm throwing it into this huge drawer" crap? Well, in my mind it's the day before friggin' Thanksgiving when you have a 15 pound turkey thawing in the meat drawer and 15 different side dishes to chop stuff up for and a bathroom in desperate need of a cleaning. What the hell...I'm going to clean out the drawer full of shit I've been avoiding for FIVE YEARS!

Tony tried to help me at one point but he didn't like my system. I was taking things out one at a time, assessing it carefully and then placing it in a pile of like items or throwing it away. For example, I had a bunch of "Pirates of the Caribbean" stickers and I had to decide whether they were worth keeping. Honestly, I only really wanted the ones of Johnny Depp, but each sheet of stickers had some of Kiera Knightly (Who really bugs me...I think it's her teeth. She looks like a piranha. So does Sigorney Weaver. She bugs me too.)and Orlando Bloom who I could care less about.

Okay, so were there enough stickers of Johnny Depp to make it worth my while to keep them? Also, what in the world am I going to do with a bunch of Johnny Depp stickers? Not being a 12 year old, I don't have a notebook to put them on. Brenna wouldn't ever stick them on her notebooks because, "Mom...he's so, so, so old!" So what exactly is their perceived value? This is my process.

Tony just wanted to chuck them in the sticker pile with nary a thought. Oh no, you drawer sorting novice! It has to take a maddeningly long time to decide what to do with each item! Then you have to arrange all your piles in order of importance! Then you have to tire of the project and have a beautifully empty drawer, but a bunch of stupid-ass piles all over the couch. That's the way to sort, dammit!

Anyway, there were a ton of photos in the drawer as well and, as any good sorter knows, you have to spend a really long time looking at each one and talking about when it was taken and then argue about when it was taken and then decide you really can't remember when it was taken, etc. Well, I came across a couple of pictures and they reminded me of a really, really great story. Actually, it makes me look like a lunatic, but I'm willing to expose my crazy side.

Okay, first of all, let me concede this point: I am NOT a morning person. Everyone who knows me understands that. However, my children still like to push the envelope once in a while on the occasional morning. Unfortunately, they always seem to pick a morning that we are out of half and half for my coffee, the dogs come in with muddy paws and I have my period. It's like they just like to live on the edge.

So, this particular morning (a few years ago) Brenna decided that she hated all her clothes. Her bus was going to come in 15 minutes and she was sitting on her bedroom floor in her underwear with her arms around her legs and rocking back and forth. I went in her room to see why she wasn't brushing her teeth yet and found her like that just rocking and staring at her armoire. I asked her what she was doing and she told me she had nothing to wear. Keep in mind that this child had an armoire filled with everything the Gap Kids had in her size. I decided to take the high road rather than lose my cool and give her the "Look at all these clothes! You have more clothes than your father and I do combined! Pick something out you ungrateful brat!" speech.

So I started to pull out clothes and show them to her saying, "How about this? You look great in this!" and she would look at the clothes and then at me like, "What are you talking about you idiot?" I finally pulled out a pair of pants and tossed them to her with a "Just put these on, you're going to be late," and she just calmly said, "I hate those pants and I will never wear them." I knew that wasn't true...she was just trying to get a rise out me. Well, guess what? That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I picked up the pants held them with one leg in each hand and said, "Oh yea? Well, then you won't mind if I do this?!?" and I pulled the legs as hard as I could in an attempt to rip them.

Let me tell you, denim is a tough fabric to tear and no matter how hard I tried to rip those stupid jeans I couldn't do it. She yelled, "Don't!" but I was so determined to rip those damn jeans at this point I was red in the face. I think I finally ripped off a belt loop when Brenna finally grabbed them out of my hands. She started to put them on and I left her room saying, "You better brush your teeth because if you don't hurry you are going to miss the bus and I am NOT driving you to school; you can walk."

I went in the bedroom to calm down and heard her walk in the bathroom. I went out in the hall and looked in the open bathroom door. She was getting ready to brush her teeth and I heard her mutter something like, "I hate these stupid jeans..." I asked, "What did you say?" and she just sighed and didn't look at me while she began to brush her teeth. As I stood there, silent (again, deciding to take the high road) she did the one thing I cannot tolerate. She slammed the bathroom door. In my face. Okay, you might as well just say, "Screw you, bitch!" because that is what you really mean when you slam a door on someone, right? I turned around and screamed, "Don't you EVER slam a door on me!" and I lifted up my leg and prepared to kick the fucking door down because I was so pissed off.
As I'm readying my best "Cagney and Lacey gonna bust down the door" kick, my darling Tony came walking out of the kitchen, glanced up the stairs and yelled, "Don't do it! I can't fix that!!" (He is not a handyman under the best of circumstances...what would he have done with a door, off the hinges and with a big foot-sized hole in it? We would have had to move.)

Well, thank GOD for the voice of reason. I didn't kick down the door (Which would have been stupid anyway. It wasn't even locked.) I just violently opened the door to find Brenna cowering on the floor because she knew she was in big-ass trouble. I don't even know what I yelled at her at this point. I just went downstairs and looked at Tony and said, "You are going to be late for work because I am going for a walk," and I left. I walked all the way down to the baseball field at the end of our street and I sat on the bench shaking. I was so mad at Brenna, but I was mostly mad at myself. I had lost my temper with a child. Yes, she was being unreasonable, but I was the grown-up and I loved her so much. I couldn't believe I had left her crying on the bathroom floor. So, I got up, crying, and I started home. As I got closer I could see her bus pulling up. I started to run and got to the house just in time to see her tear streaked face staring at me out the back window of the bus. Seriously. I felt like such a shitty, bitchy mother.

So, I grabbed Bronte (who was a toddler at the time) and I got in the car and drove to my friend B's house. She has 4 kids and once, notoriously, got so mad at one of them she duct taped him to the wall. I knew she would make me feel better. I rang her bell and I took one look at her and started to cry. I sobbed, "I'm the worst mom, EVER!" She just put her arm around me and took me to the most comfortable room in the house...the screened-in porch with the full bar. She poured me a 7-up and vodka (it was about 9 a.m.) and I told her the whole story. I stayed there for a couple of hours and then I went home, feeling much better.

Ok...so here is the funny part. At about 10:30 that night Tony was getting ready to leave and go to the homeless shelter where he volunteered once a month. I was sitting downstairs watching t.v. and I heard Tony say (from upstairs) "Holy shit."

"What?" I asked.

Tony said, "You better come up and see."

Well, the front room of our house has a bank of 6 big windows which look out on our front yard. In our front yard is a tree and in that tree looking back at me was a 10-12 foot long, HUGE, red and yellow striped stuffed gecko. I looked at Tony and said, "What the hell is that?" Tony was kind of laughing and said, "I have no idea."

Well, I did NOT see the humor in this because it was about a year after 9/11 and terrorists were everywhere. I panicked. I looked at him and said, "Don't go out there! It's probably full of anthrax!" Tony was like, "Carolyn, really..." and I said, "Call the police! Maybe it's a bomb!" Tony said, "Calm down! It's a joke!" I countered with, "Terrorists flew airplanes into buildings! Who knows what this is?" There was a BIG pause and Tony said, "Right. Terrorists have the time to stuff a giant lizard with anthrax. AND I know we'd be a huge target. In Palatine, Illinois."

Okay, now I was feeling a little foolish...so I went outside and Tony took my picture in front of the tree with the gecko in it.
(Incidentally, we left it in the tree so the kids could see it in the morning. Bronte, who wasn't quite 2 years old at the time, took one look at it and said, "Holy crap!" Brenna had Tony take the thing out of the tree and she and Bronte carried it up and down the street laughing. Apparently it didn't cross their minds that it could have a bomb in it.)

So, how did the gecko get in my tree? Well, my friend B knew I was feeling really bad and she wanted to do something to cheer me up. So, she was driving around later that day with her 4 kids and she saw this 10 foot stuffed lizard in some one's garbage. Immediately she thought, "That's just the thing to cheer up Carolyn!" So she got her 4 kids (who were 2, 4, 7 and 8 years old at the time) out of the car and had them grab the gecko and shove it in the back of their Suburban. When it was just starting to get dark she put all 4 kids back in the car and drove to my house and they artfully arranged the gecko in my tree. Honestly, who the hell does something like that? And, she had all her kids with her. It was brilliant! It sounds crazy, but this is the same woman who asked me and Brenna to come over and help her toilet paper her own house to celebrate and surprise her son before his first football game when he was 8 years old.
In any case, when I found out that she had done this I waited an appropriate amount of time (I think it was almost a year) and we went and put the gecko in HER tree one evening. I think the gecko has been in about 5 trees around town since then.

What difference does it make?

Is it just me, or does Britney Spears just keep getting uglier? I know it's hard to be an alcoholic...but you'd think she would hire people to make sure she didn't go out in public looking like this. I mean, seriously...she makes Paris Hilton look classy. I don't know why I keep up with the whole Britney thing, except for the fact that I get updates on all the best celebrity gossip thanks to people.com, but I am just disgusted by the whole thing...I don't know why. Maybe it's because here is a girl with absolutely zero talent who was lucky enough to score some half-way decent dance tunes and became a wealthy talent-less star through some weird cosmic fluke. I would think she would be smart enough to hire some people to be sure she held on to it, right? Here is what she used to look like:

She wasn't the cutest girl I ever saw, but she looked pretty good. I never really saw the appeal and I can't stand the way she sings, but...okay. I can see her providing masturbation material for thousands of adolesent boys and a whole bunch of pedophiles, but I figured she would go away fairly quickly. However, that is also the way I felt about Madonna, so what do I know?
In any case, now she looks like this: Wow. Her mom must be so proud.
Here is another one of my favorites:

Gee. I sure hope she was drunk when she went out in public with this on. Could she not feel the breeze on her ass cheeks? Doesn't she have anyone in her entourage that could have said, "Put some damn pants on, woman! Your ass is hanging out!" Good thing her kids are too young to be aware of what a slutty moron their mother is. I bet Kevin Federline never thought he'd be thinking, "Boy, I got out just in time!" It just doesn't make any sense.

We hate it when our friends become successful

I recently heard from an old high school friend of mine. Well, actually I looked at his "My Space" page and left a comment which he then commented on etc. Anyway, in high school he was sort of an outcast...a loner, so to speak. (Sort of like Pee Wee Herman in Pee Wee's Big Adventure when he tells Dotty, "You don't want to get mixed up with a guy like me. I'm a loner, Dotty. A rebel." The thing Pee Wee forgot to mention to Dotty was that he was a porn theater masturbater too, but maybe that's what he meant by "loner". Makes sense. Incidentally, I have never been to or even SEEN a movie theater that shows porn, but can you imagine sitting in a seat in a porn theater? I mean, you would have to bring a plastic drop-cloth to sit on because who knows what kind of bodily fluids your butt might come in contact with if you didn't! Yikes! I have a friend who went on a "nude cruise" once. Yes, it is exactly what it sounds like...a bunch of naked people on a Carnival Cruise ship. Anyway, she said that you had to bring a towel with you to dinner because you couldn't sit on the dining room chairs without one. Okay...so I thought about that one for a little while...I assume that the chairs were upholstered, right? Think about what part of your ass would be in direct contact with the chair cushion and what it might leave behind...Is a towel REALLY adequate protection?)
Anyway, where was I? Oh, my high school friend, the loner. He didn't play sports, he didn't play an instrument, he wasn't in student government and he wasn't some sort of a brainiac. Let's put it in "Breakfast Club" terms...he wasn't jocky, like Emilio Estevez; he wasn't a dork, like Anthony Michael Hall; he wasn't a bad ass, like Judd Nelson (his character was totally my type in high school but I only dated guys from other schools so I wouldn't be distracted during school hours); and he wasn't rich enough to be Molly Ringwald...he was more like Ally Sheedy's character, only male and without dandruff. Rob (that's his name) had jet black hair that was all spiked on the top (it was the 80's, ok?) and totally white skin and he wanted to be a DJ. He drove an ancient Chevy Nova that you needed to have a pencil to get into. The car doors had handles that looked like this:

So, you grasp the handle and press your thumb on the button thing to open the door, right? Well, the button was gone on both handles, so you had to stick a pencil in the hole where the button used to be to pop the door open. Whenever we went anywhere he would say, "I'll drive, you bring the pencil." Did I mention that my mother absolutely hated Rob? He had a funny haircut and a crappy car that she was embarrassed to have parked in front of our house and his family lived on the wrong side of town and his brother's name was in the police reports once because he shot a gun at a passing car and didn't I know that I was going to be judged by the company I kept, blah, blah, blah. My mother wanted me to be friends with boys that were clean-cut and drove nice cars and played sports. I wanted to be friends with people who were bright and interesting and wanted to do more than drink beer and get blow jobs on Friday nights. I went on a date once with the cutest guy in my school...he was a wrestler. He picked me up, took me back to his house (his parents were gone) and wanted to know if I would suck his dick. I said no, so then he asked me to do his homework. I think I said something like, "Does this shit usually work?" and he said, "Well, yes..." As I recall I said something like, "You have got to be kidding me," and then I laughed and laughed. I also remember walking home. Great guy. I think he told everyone on the wrestling team that he nailed me and I was too disgusted by the entire thing to even fight back. Besides, at least it was the cutest guy in school lying about sleeping with me and not the ugliest guy in school. Right? Always look on the bright side of life. That was the one and only time I dated someone from my stupid high school.
One day I decided that Rob really needed a pair of Calvin Klein jeans (did I mention that this was in the 80's?) so we drove his Nova (did you know that No Va means doesn't go in Spanish?) to the local County Seat. The store was in a strip mall in our hometown and on the outside of the store, above the door were the words COUNTY SEAT in red 3-D lit-up letters. The letters stuck out like this:

except they were red. Get the picture?

Well, as Rob and I were walking into the store he was throwing his keys up in the air and catching them and we were laughing about how much my mother hated him. He was really bugged by it, though (I imagine it was because he had spent the bulk of his life being judged by his appearance and his brother's misdemeanors) and he kept throwing his keys up higher and higher. On his last toss before we were going to enter the store, Rob really whipped those keys up and we both watched them land in the middle of the 3-D letter "O" in the word COUNTY. Now, these letters were a good 15 feet above the ground, if not more. We both just stood there. I think Rob even mutely stuck his hand out, palm up, hoping the keys would just fall in it. Needless to say I started laughing. Rob just stood there staring at the "O". I was laughing so hard I was crying and I said, "What are you going to do?" Rob said, "I'm going to go buy some Calvin Klein jeans."

I don't remember if Rob got jeans that day, but I do know that the store manager had to call the fire department to come with the ladder truck

to get his keys out of the sign. It was hilarious. I, being the perverse person I am, couldn't wait to get home and tell my mother.
So, one day Rob was supposed to come and pick me up so we could go somewhere and my mom decided that she had just had it! She wasn't going to stand by and watch me hang out with someone fun and interesting! She wanted me to be popular and slutty! (I don't think that was her intention...but she did encourage me not to quit cheerleading when I was a senior...I did quit, by the way.) It was a beautiful day and the front door was open as Rob approached our house, keys and pencil in hand. Needless to say he heard everything my mother said. She said things like, "Why do you have to bring home all the strays?" and "You hang around with him so much because he hasn't got any other friends!" and all sorts of hurtful, terrible things. So, he turned around and walked away. We never went and did whatever it was we were going to do that day because he wouldn't even talk to me when I called.
The next day I got a delivery from FTD. It was a huge basket of flowers with a card that said, "Sorry I couldn't see you yesterday. I was busy hanging out with all my "friends". Love, Rob the Stray." My mom was so pissed off. I thought it was brilliant. I still do.
Later on Rob became a very successful DJ, then a program director (just like Andy Travis from WKRP in Cincinnati) and a stand-up comedian. He also found God, became born-again and told me Elton John was going straight to hell because he's gay...but that's another story. My mom has since apologized to me many times for being so hard on Rob. Even better, she has apologized to Rob. Born again or not, he couldn't help but tell her how well he'd done in his career and rub her nose in her judgemental-ness. Oh well, he knows God will forgive him.

I'll Never Be Anybody's Hero Now

Well...another Halloween come and gone and all we have to show for it are 2 pillowcases with about 20 pounds of candy in each. Now, whenever my kids tell me they are hungry I say, "Why don't you have a piece of Halloween candy?" no matter what time it is. Pretty soon there won't be anything left but Dots (who really buys those to hand out? They taste like crap) and those bags of Kiwanis peanuts that someone in our neighborhood always hands out.

This year my kids decided they wanted to dress up like Superheros. Bronte found a Spiderman costume at Costco in August and so Brenna decided she would be Superman and her friend J would be Batman and her friend G would be Robin (who is technically just a side-kick, not a real Superhero, but I wasn't going to point it out to her. Well, I might have, but only on Halloween when she was actually wearing the costume so she could walk around in SHAME all night. Just kidding. Really.) and Bronte's friend L was going to be Supergirl. Then they were all going to go trick-or-treating together. So far, so good, right? WRONG! By the time I actually got around to taking Brenna and her friend G shopping for their costumes (J and her mom had already gotten the Batman costume. J's mom is really efficient which just makes me mad because I look so lame in comparison. She's skinny too. Bitch.) there weren't any stupid Superhero costumes left. We went to a whole bunch of stores too, not just the Target around the corner. So, I bought them the next best thing to a Superhero costume....I bought them Ghostbuster costumes. I thought it was such a great idea, I bought Ghostbuster costumes for Tony and me too. (After all, there were 4 Ghostbusters) Brenna's friend, J, decided that she didn't want to be a Superhero anymore, so her mom made her a costume to go with ours. J was the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Yes, her mother MADE IT. See why I have a hard time liking her? Who has the time or the energy to MAKE costumes? When I was a kid, I was the same thing for Halloween every year; a princess. I wore a tiara, a long sparkly dress and makeup. Perfect! Then, when I was in 4th grade I discovered Elton John...so I dressed up like Elton John every year after that. I wore a tiara, a long sparkly dress and make-up! Perfect! I figured, "Why be a stupid princess when I can be a Queen?"
Okay, back to this Halloween...so, the kids went to school and Tony and I prepared ourselves for the day. Tony set up the fog machine, put the flying red-eyed bat on the basketball hoop, made sure the scary scarecrow was firmly attached to the tree with the giant spiderweb, prepared the sound-activated "rat in a trap" to go off every time a kid approached the door...and I went to the gym. Hey, a Ghostbuster needs to be buff. When I got back and showered, we put on our Ghostbuster costumes and went to Bronte's school to help with the party. Out of Bronte's entire first grade class, she was the only one who knew who we were supposed to be, because we, of course, allow our 6 year old to watch movies with scary ghosts and sexual undertones. WHATEVER! I helped the kids make homemade slime out of water, Borax and glue. (The teacher split the kids into groups of 4 and they went to different stations around the room. Slime was mine.) I told them all that they weren't to eat it or let their pets or siblings eat it either. Some kid asked me, "Can I let my brother lick it?" at which point I wondered why I thought it was a good idea to have first graders make slime. Of course they want to eat it! Especially after I told them not to. Tony was at the second most popular station (with mine being the first); the donut on a string station. At this station, there were chocolate cake donuts tied to a dowel rod on a long string. The kids had to put their hands behind their backs and kneel (prison-style) two at a time and try to eat the donut faster than the other kid. Tony told me afterward that there was one girl that had the longest tongue he'd ever seen. She literally stuck her tongue out, wrapped it around the donut and stuck it in her mouth. She's going to be very popular in high school.

After school we went back to the house and got ready for the real fun. My mom and dad came over to hand out candy so we could go trick-or-treating with the kids but not be the lame-o's of the neighborhood who isn't home on Halloween. You see, I don't care if my PARENTS are the lame-o's of their neighborhood, I only care about my own reputation. Brenna was ready to go in her Ghostbuster costume and her friend J was getting her Stay Puft costume on with the help of her mother. We were waiting for my dear friend to show up with her kids G and L who were going be the fourth Ghostbuster and Supergirl, respectively. Finally, once we had taken copious photos on the front lawn, we were all ready to go. Supergirl, Spiderman, the four Ghostbusters (because, of course Tony and I stayed in our costumes) and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man set off. My dear friend (the mother of G and L), I assumed, was going to come with us because I figured she'd want to see people's reactions to her kids in costume. However, she turned around and got in her car. I looked at her daughter, G, and said, "Where's your mom going?" and she said, "I don't know. She's probably going to follow us in the car, " and then she rolled her eyes. (She's 12, just like my sassy daughter. Her eyeballs are going to stick in permanent eye-roll mode just like Brenna's.) Well, sure enough, my pal was in her black BMW sports-utility vehicle inching along the curb right behind us.
From the sidewalk, I turned to her to ask her what the hell she was doing in the car when....suddenly...I heard something. Oh yes...my genius friend was BLASTING the Ghostbusters theme song from her Beemer. I almost wet my pants laughing. She yelled out (over the strains of "Who ya gonna call? GHOSTBUSTERS!") to me, "Are you surprised? I went on-line and bought it and I have it on this disc over and over!" I was laughing my ass off. I tried to tell her how awesome it was, but she kept yelling "WHAT?" because she had the volume up all the way and she couldn't hear me. So, I decided to show my appreciation through dance. I did The Lawnmower, The Funky Chicken and various versions of The Robot. She was laughing so hard she almost ran into a parked car. My neighbors probably all thought I was drunk. Tony and I danced (seriously...danced) all over the neighborhood to the Ghostbusters song for upwards of 2 hours. My friend inched along behind us, blasting the song and smoking cigarettes in her black BMW the entire time. Honestly, she is the best! Who else would have thought to do that? (I don't know why I was so surprised though. I mean, this is the same girl who, 13 years ago, gave me "the best water ever". Let me explain...we were both working as make-up artists for Lancome and we won some stupid contest and we got to go see "Miss Saigon" in Chicago. The downside of this, for both of us, was that we were going to have to go with the other stupid girls who won. Well, my friend decided to drive and I, of course, had to sit in the front seat. As we were speeding down the tollway into the city, she was drinking from a huge sippy cup thing. At one point she turned to me and said, "Here, have a drink." I said, "What is it?" She replied, "Water," and I said, "No thanks, I'm not thirsty." She said, "Have some!" and I said, "I'm not THIRSTY." She shoved it in my hands and said, "It's really good water." To appease her, I took a huge gulp. Big mistake. The cup was full of champagne.) I have never had more fun trick-or-treating in my life. I don't think my kids have either. At one point, Brenna got all of us Ghostbusters to do a fabulous line dance where we pretended to shoot her friend the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. It was great. I think my friend was mostly deaf for at least 2 hours afterwards judging from the way she yelled her entire conversation at the dinner table.
Next year, when we go trick-or-treating, we are definitely going to need a soundtrack again. It made it WAY more fun. Maybe we should go as John Travolta circa Saturday Night Fever and she could follow us blaring "Stayin' Alive". What do you think??

Bigmouth Strikes Again...

My daughter, Brenna, who is 12 years old and is completely unimpressed with anything and rolls her beautiful eyes so much that I swear they are going to stick looking up at her brain and she will look like one of the lobotomized humans from Planet of the Apes, said the nicest thing to me the other day..."Mom, when I grow up I'm going to be a cool mom just like you." Isn't that sweet? I think she said it on our way home from dropping her friends off at their homes after attending a Bible Study I lead for 7th and 8th grade girls. Brenna and four of her friends got in the car and I immediately turned on Justin Timberlake. No, no, no...not "SexyBack". That would be wrong. I turned on "Damn Girl" and the lyrics to that song are:

Damn Girl, Damn Girl, Damn Girl, Damn Girl, Damn....

The girls thought it was hilarious, except for one. She was not happy. She did not approve. So, I talked about how, as Christians, we don't judge because only God has the right to do that. We can gently try to guide our friends to see a more Christian perspective, but judging is not our place. Then I went off on the religious right banning books and how in my last Bible Study some judgemental, righteous holier-than-thou type told me I was a sinner because I watched MTV and read People magazine. I said that, as Christians, we needn't feel guilty that we listen to Justin Timberlake or Fergie...and that "Damn Girl" isn't a bad song. He's actually complimenting a girl. (He could have just called her foxy though. That's a good one.)

The funny thing about that stupid Justin Timberlake disc is that, when I bought it, I actually got the censored version so that all the swear words were muted out. I figured it was going to be inappropriate enough that my 6 year old was going to go around singing, "I'm bringing sexy back--yeah" and I didn't need to introduce any more colorful phrases into her vocabulary. Well, then I listened to "SexyBack" a few times. In the first chorus Justin asserts that, "Them other boys don't know how to act" which is cute and catchy. Well, in the second chorus the lyric went, "Them other (mumble) don't know how to act," and in the third it went, "You mother (mumble) watch how I attack." Okay, well...if you know me you know that my favorite swear word in the whole world is mother-fucker. It just sounds so satisfying when you call someone you can't stand a "mother-fucker". Or, when you stub your toe on the corner of the coffee table there's nothing like a good "Mother Fucker!" to make you feel better. Anyway, it was pretty obvious to me that Justin was saying my favorite swear word in SexyBack and I became obsessed with hearing the original version. Well, of course, they play the censored version on the radio so I wasn't going to hear it there and I didn't know anyone my own age who might actually own the Justin Timberlake disc. I really wanted to go out and buy the uncensored disc, just in case he sang "mother-fucker" in any of the other songs too, but I just couldn't justify (Ha!) spending another thirteen bucks on a lame, totally age-inappropriate, pseudo-dance disc for myself. Well, as luck would have it, one night we were driving home Brenna's oldest friend who I love as much as I love my own kids and she said, "Brenna, you're so lucky to have this disc. I wish I had it." So, being the fabulous pretend-aunt that I am I gave her the disc. The next day I went to Best Buy and bought the uncensored version so that I could hear the word "mother-fucker".

My darling daughter Brenna, however, didn't even roll her eyes when I gave her friend the disc. Honestly, she is the least selfish kid I have ever met. Plus, she probably figured that I would go out and buy another one. I listen to that stupid disc all the time.

Anyway, Brenna's friend was just livid that I would play that song and that the rest of the girls would actually enjoy it. She, obviously didn't hear me talk about intolerance, etc...but I don't really care. I'm the mom and I will play whatever I want in my own car. If I had a recording of Justin Timberlake and that Adam guy from Saturday Night Live doing "Dick In A Box" I would play that the next time she was in my car. (Well, probably not, but I sure would be tempted. By the way, if I you haven't seen "Dick In A Box" then you really need to click here and watch it. It's hilarious.)

In any case, now I find myself using questionable language when I am in this child's presence...like "crap" and "what the....(Hell is implied)" and "dammit". It's only a matter of time before she isn't allowed to hang out with Brenna any more. Oh well, no big loss.

The Queen is dead, boys...

Holy crap! Dumbledore is gay?! That's it! I am going to throw away all of my Harry Potter books because my pristine pretend magical world has been sullied by the knowledge that the beloved Dumbledore is a pansy. Begin the book burning!

Give me a break. Who cares if the made-up headmaster (a title that has all new meaning for me now that I know about Dumbledore's proclivities) of a fictional school for wizards is gay? Hello!!! It's a book! Besides the fact that JK Rowling can think and say anything about Dumbledore (or Harry or Hermione or Ron, etc.) that she wants--she invented them! To suggest that she said Dumbledore was a gay man to sell more books (because that really seems to be a problem for the Potter series...dismal sales) or to stick it to the religious right is retarded. In the throes of creating such a rich and faceted fantasy world it is naive to think that JK didn't imagine lives outside the pages for all of her characters. C'mon! He's here! He's queer! Get used to it! If you're pissed off that JK "outed" Dumbledore (a fictional character, I remind you) then be comforted by the fact that HE DIES! Guess she showed that queer who's boss!

And, as far as pissing off the religious right goes...why would she even care? It's not like all their bitching and pulling of Harry Potter novels off library shelves hurt the sales of her book any. Is she, perhaps, dismayed (as an artist) at being so misunderstood? I doubt it, but I could be wrong. (It reminds me of a class I took in college called "In Print, In Person" in which we-the class- read a book and then the actual author came in and told us what he really meant. Well, we spent the better part of a semester reading "Slaughterhouse 5" by Kurt Vonnegut and trying to decide what imagery he was using and what various symbols in the book stood for, only to have Kurt come in and say, "For Christ's sake! I made it up. It doesn't mean anything!") Besides, has it occurred to anyone that she has finished the Harry Potter series? I mean, it's not like this huge revelation is going to affect the next book (Dumbledore gets his freak on with the headmaster of Durmstrang, saves the memory in the Penseive and Harry stumbles across it like a boy finding his dad's Playboy mags under the marital bed...) because she finished the series, kids!! Anything that Dumbledore has done can only be conjured up in your filthy little minds! Besides, if JK were to continue writing and cover the years after the big battle at the end of Book 7 and the (lame-ass) epilogue who knows what would have happened? Harry would have been screwing groupies like a crazed Steven Tyler in the 70's driving poor Ginny to drink herself into a series of rehabs. Ron would have gotten hopped up on some super magical steroids so he could play Quidditch professionally and then he would have gone into some sort of 'roid rage and beat the shit out of Hermione one night when she was getting all pious on his ass. Luna Lovegood would become a stripper (with a name like that what else could she become?). Yikes! I would rather have some tender man-on-man action starring Dumbledore than all that crap.

Bottom line is...the fact that Dumbledore is gay was just an incidental part of his character which is why JK didn't include it in the books. Doesn't change my opinion of him at all, but it does explain his incredible flair! Plus, the fact that he was so in touch with his feminine side was what made him so tender towards Harry, if you ask me. (Now don't go turning that into some sick-o pedophile reference. His tenderness towards Harry was loving and motherly, not sexual. That's why Harry adored him.) Besides, why am I talking about a fictional character like he is a real person? Unless he "got gay" on the pages of one of the seven books then this information is superfluous and just something that JK used to create a wonderful character. For all those idiots who are going to pitch a fit and not let their kids read HP because JK said Dumbledore is gay (which is never even implied in the books) then they are only teaching their children bigotry and intolerance. I don't even have the time to address how stupid those people are. Maybe Dumbledore can help us out here....

In other news, did you know that JK Rowling is a huge Morrissey fan?

Moz Possee

I don't even know where to begin. Luckily I have friends like Jim who told me that I should start with what we wore to the concert... Well, I wore my Viva Hate t-shirt (see my last post for a picture of it) with a lovely cream colored long sleeve JJill pucker tee underneath. I had on my favorite black pants and my black wing-tip Docs. I had a 30 minute inner debate about whether I should wear my contacts or glasses, because I like the androgynous vibe I give off when I wear my black garb and my rectangular Prada glasses with the rhinestones on the sides, but I finally ended up with the contacts because I didn't want to have to worry about keeping my glasses clean all night. (I'm really anal about having my glasses crystal clean all the time. Hard to imagine, I'm sure...) Tony had on my "Your Arsenal" tee shirt (which is the one I really wanted to wear because the pic of Morrissey on the front is so sexy. However, since we were going to be in the front row and Tony has always attracted the attention of gay men, I thought Morrissey might really dig him if he wore the "Your Arsenal" tee.) and a pair of jeans. I really am not one of those rabid fans who live and breathe for the object of my admiration. However, last night, standing at the feet of Morrissey while he performed was one of the absolutely most incredible experiences of my life. I didn't cry or pass out or flip out and scream...that is SOOOOO not my style. But I cried when the concert was over and we were safely back in the Durango. It was overwhelming.
Yes, I know I sound retarded and like some stupid high school girl talking about The Backstreet Boys but I just can't help myself.

Back to Moz...when Tony and I got to the theater the first thing we saw was the merch booth, so of course I had to stand there for 15 minutes to decide what t-shirt to get. (I got 2) then we went into the actual theater. This is a photo of the inside of the actual theater.(from the stage, obviously)Well, we took a look down the aisle toward the front and saw that they had set up two rows of chairs in front of the front row. Tony said, "Shit! There's going to be people in front of us," which had me VERY disappointed and I was sad as we were led to our seats. But-wait! No, no, no, no...look up sad girl!! the usher led us right to the first row of chairs and took us to the two that were in the exact middle of the front row. We were, literally a foot away from the stage. Needless to say my ass didn't hit the chair from the second Morrissey appeared. The stage was about 4 and a half feet off the floor (I'm totally guessing...I am really, really bad at measurements, but let me tell you this, it was about 3 inches above my belly button--not quite boob height) and I stood there the entire concert with my arms on the stage leaning towards Morrissey. When Moz sang I seriously could have counted his teeth. I didn't, because I think everyone has 32, if you count wisdom teeth, and I was too busy trying to think of something to say to him if he asked me a question. However, the one question he did ask everyone in the front row was the identity of the person on his backdrop...and Tony said it was Marlon Brando so I went with it because I thought he was right. However, it was a young Richard Burton so I felt like a total idiot. Damn! My one opportunity to impress Morrissey and I blew it!

Anyway...Morrissey had on brown trousers, lovely brown square toed lace up shoes, which couldn't have been leather because he is such an animal-loving vegan (listen to "Meat is Murder" if you have a question about that)but they sure were fabulous, and a brown button down dress shirt. His eyes are so blue...they are as blue as Bronte's eyes. Okay, you can't really tell how blue Bronte's eyes are in that picture, but she's so freakin' cute I had to include it.
Anyway, he opened with "Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before" and it was just unbelievable from that moment on. At one point Morrissey left while the band was playing and changed his shirt. He came back wearing a gorgeous yellow shirt which he sweat through quickly. So, right in the middle of "How Soon Is Now" he (in dramatic rock-star style) ripped the shirt off---buttons flying everywhere---screaming fans in a frenzy---and wadded it up and threw it (I shit you not) right at Tony. (It was his sassy tee shirt, I tell you) Well, some asshole fuck-wad from way left came leaping out of nowhere and grabbed the shirt while it was in Tony's hands and started yelling, "I got it! Let go!" After about 15 seconds of fighting with this dick-head for the shirt, Tony looks at me and says, "How bad do you want it?" I said, "I want it," and Tony says, "Grab it and pull." So I am pulling, Tony is pulling and the asshole is pulling. The guy behind Tony says, "Hey man, I got your back," to Tony and I finally get a good look at the rabid fan who Tony is trying to get the shirt from. He was big and bald with a fuzzy orangish goatee and suddenly I realize that it's just a shirt and I am missing the show. I let go.
In the meantime, Tony realizes that this commotion is pissing me and Morrissey off and he thinks to himself, "Hey man, Morrissey is a pacifist," and he lets go too.

Let me just tell you something, though...that shirt smelled beautiful. I could still smell it on my hands before I fell asleep last night. It was a combination of clean sweat and patchouli. As much as I wish I had the shirt, I wouldn't trade the experience of that concert (and the knowledge that my husband loves me so much he almost threw an elbow at the guy's nose to get the buttonless, fragrant shirt) for anything. I hope the asshole that got it is allergic to patchouli and gets an itchy, red rash on his dick after masturbating with the thing all night. (You know that's what he did. He was crazy.)
The best part of the night came during "I Like You" during the part when Morrissey sings,
"You're not right in the head and nor am I
And this is why
You're not right in the head and nor am I
And this is why
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you
Because you're not right in the head, and nor am I
And this is why, You're not right in the head, and nor am I
And this is why, This is why I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you
This is why I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you"
He came right up to the edge of the stage where Tony and I were, and he looked right at Tony and sang and shook his hand and then did the same to me. A real handshake too...not some wimpy "I'll grab your hand because you've got it sticking out" bullshit. It was a real-live "nice to meet you, aren't you impressed with my really firm and possibly slightly too long" handshake. Okay, maybe it was slightly too long because I wouldn't let go, but WHATEVER!! I shook the man's hand.

Honestly, I spent the night at the feet of a legend. He's a genius and I love him.