Edges of Doors Feel Great

I think my Oldest, who is miserably clumsy, got it from me. When departing from Co-op on Monday he tripped over the mat in front of the glass door. He made a million loud and annoying sounds as he went down and slammed into me. Thankfully I was there or else he would have slammed into the glass. The kid never sees a day without yelping and holding his foot, or guarding his knee with a scream, or shouting while nursing his head. He is comic.

Yesterday I approached the bathroom door to help my daughter get her tights on when I opened the door, my slipper got in the way, and I just walked into it. You know, like how the Three Stooges hurt themselves. Or something on Tom and Jerry. Like a freaking clown. My temple hit the corner and there I was, wincing in pain, head on wall, tightening my fists. Of all the stupid...

So last night I sat in bed to read and Dear Sir, instead of watching something political on TV, sat next to me. I was so happy to see him emerge that I put my book down to kiss him on the cheek. My nose hit his face.
"Holy cow, your nose is cold!" Dear Sir looked at me like he was worried.
"Yeah, I need something on it---I don't know. I do feel cold." I am always cold.
"You need a nose sweater," he said.
"That would look ridiculous," I said.
"I know--- you could just put on a clown nose, that would work. It would look nice on you."
I shot him a look.
"And you could wear your big ol' slippers and run into doors."
"Shut up."


Indian Name

I have been reading this book, that so far I do not recommend because it is a bit over the top, called A Thousand White Women. The one thing that I have found funny about it is that while all these white ladies are supposed to be marrying these savage Indian men as some sort of peace treaty in the 1870's, they all somehow get names as they exist among the people. It struck me funny when one woman was upset because she is clumsy and they call her "Falls Down Woman."

I told this to Dear Sir (who I am thinking about renaming 'the professor' since he studies constantly and ignores me thoroughly) and told him that I would be called "Little Stupid Woman" and he would be "Smart Man who Slobbers" or "Can't Use Tools." He whipped out a doozie and I have been laughing ever since. He said they would call me "Cuts Own Hand." I am literally still laughing.

What is your Indian name? I would love to hear it.


Why Me

I had to teach art class yesterday (you realize that I am teaching K-1) because the teacher called me at the last minute and asked if I would. At first it was going to be a painting deal, then it turned into a place mat weaving dealy. It was so last minute that I did not give much thought to it all, I just thought, "as long as I am not stuck doing the painting stuff on my own---the mess---the chaos---I'll be alright."

What the heck was I thinking?

"I will call to get an assistant for you," she said, coughing.

"Oh ok. Yeah, that would be helpful."

I taught my literature class and stepped into the art class. I saw right away how difficult the place mat weaving was going to be for Kindergarten and First Graders. But a pile of kids came followed by the emptiness of no assistant, and soon a swirl of chaos ensued. Thankfully, as I have said before, my daughter who is more mature than I am at times, flew in to the rescue. She is six. I know, I know, she is six, you say. She morphed into an assistant, and was more helpful than an adult would have been any day. She forsook her own place mat, helped the other kids cut (they could not cut straight lines) and helped them weave, even though she hardly knew herself what to do. Whenever I was busy with one thing she took on another to fill up for my lack. Everywhere I turned things were getting taken care of. I saw her cutting construction paper, throwing scraps away, gathering unneeded scissors, papers, pencils. When the time came to clean up she instructed kids to get ready.

I almost lost my mind. None of the kids could get it together. None of them knew what we were doing, none of them understood, none of them could cut paper to save their lives. The Girl and I did just about all of it. When a mother came to pick up her girl, I am sure I looked harried and busy. I barely turned around when the girl left the table. I got a look at the mother though, and she shot me this look like, "Do you think you are competent, blondie?" I know that sounds judgmental, but truly, she shot me a look like that. I just turned around and kept cutting and instructing. I admit the room was a bit chaotic, especially with a six year old assistant.

But I had a goal of getting it all done within the hour. Eleven place mats. No wait. Ten. My girl would have to wait for hers. We got them done, nonetheless. At the last five minutes or so my friend poked her head in and said, "Um, you need help," and she ran in and took care of everything else my daughter or I could not get to.

I yelled at my daughter----"Where are the pencils?"
"In the bag."
"The rulers?"
"In the bag."
"The papers?"
"In the bag, Mom."
"Are you just perfect or something?"

She hasn't even lost her front baby teeth yet. She can't grow up now.

Gone With the Wild

If none of you know, I have a bookclub. Well, a new one that I think I tried to form, but it turned into a being of itself. I mean, I am not as excited as the other ladies about it, but I do enjoy it. For our first book we read A Thousand Splendid Suns, then we read three short stories by Wilkie Collins (I did not pick it), then we just polished off Gone with the Wind. Oh for crying in a bucket. The woman (who is a friend of mine) who chose the book is obsessed. I just went to the meeting held at her house and we had a "GWTW Teaparty". I have never been to something more over the top. Well, maybe, but not recently. Her house is full of GWTW garb and she had more Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler figurines, framed pictures, movie posters, board games, coloring books (a haunted one, at that), supplemental reading books, cook books, framed quotes, paintings, knick-knacks, you name it, she had it----than you could shake a freaking stick at.

Tea was amazing. She had a million things to eat. She had delicacies of all sorts: scones, short bread, cakes, cucumber sandwiches. She had four different teas---one with a literal flowering bud in the pot that wowed all the guests. It was the best tea as well. It tasted like drinking a rose, straight up. She had out her best china, dainty forks and butter knives, beautiful tea cups. She had a bowl full of clotted cream so we could dollop to our heart's content.

Then she brought us up to her room to view the Gone with the Wind shrine she created there. I won't even begin to describe it to you. A whole wall was blocked out so she could put all her goodies there. Afterwards, she took us downstairs and gave us a folder (mine had my name on it) with several Gone with the Wind exams in them. She also had charts and handouts of all sorts. After our examinations were complete, she went to a room and brought out ziploc baggies full of something with a giggle. You will never guess what I got in my hand. A flipping Gone with the Wind cookie. Somehow, she found a Scarlett O'Hara cookie cutter and created these huge cookies and frosted them to look like the woman herself.

Then---to top off the evening, she handed out prizes of all sorts and her husband came down from his lair and made us a popular cocktail from the thirties: the Scarlett O'Hara. Yep, a cocktail. Apparently the Rhett Butler did not become as popular. And I am not kidding, there really is a Rhett Butler. Our hostess laughed the whole time and laughed as we all walked out the door at 1:00 a.m. That was more like a soiree, now, wasn't it?

Our next book, to my utter sadness---Pride and Prejudice. The problem with having every other book choice be a classic is that I have read most of them. The average reader will want to pick books that are the more popular on the classic scale and here I am, having read most of them already. However, I have not read The Old Man and the Sea, or Oliver Twist (among many others----but no one wants to read those).



Today was a better day even though my Satanic guitar still lurks in the corner of my room. It doesn't even hurt to see it anymore; I am past mourning, past even having a feeling of sadness. It has just turned into a looming pressure to get the new one and fast. It just sits there reminding me that it has not been replaced and someone's gotta do it, not me.

So---yesterday I did not run but schooled the kids and got a ton of stuff done. I ironed (again---that is THREE times this month!) and put up my daughter's curtains that have been waiting for me to stitch them up and hang them. I just did loads. And once that was all done I found myself going nuts: I made dinner, two in fact. One for me, one for the rest of the crew, and it was great. At least mine was. I made linguine in some white wine sauce (I couldn't find a recipe so I just made it up) and it was like I was in a restaurant. Better, actually. I should be a flipping chef. I forget that I have cooking abilities, warming up meat and vegetables that sit in the freezer, or chopping up lettuce. Like you all know, my family is sort of picky, and oftentimes I find myself just eating a bowl of oatmeal because I don't want to eat a piece of chicken again or another frozen green bean. How lively.

Anyway---after dinner, the Girl and I finished reading book 2 of the Narnia series, and started on book 3. We played a game of Skip-Bo, and then the point of doom came.

Dear Sir about lost his mind looking at the Girl's room. I was beyond losing it, I was even getting used to it a little, just filled with a tad of dread at what could be under the bed or maybe the dresser. "Cleaning up", I have discovered, for the Girl, consists of pushing more stuff in corners, handbags, drawers, etc. If you were to look at her room you would immediately think, "junky." So while my daughter wept (at eight thirty at night) I helped her clean up. I upturned stuff and piled it all on the floor. Change, dirty clothes, crap everywhere, it was a complete disaster. I remember earlier when I was ironing, I felt so faint that I thought I was going to actually fall down, but I just held on and kept going. I was TIRED. It took me a good hour, but I got it all squared away and even vacuumed the place because the bits of paper and garbage on the floor was getting under my skin. By the time nine thirty hit we were done, and Dear Sir sat and watched King of the Hill on his mac. I almost felt bitter but then I remembered that he is sick and boy do I get all whinny when I am sick, and he was smiling, so I thought better of slugging the guy. In fact, if people are just out of my way when I am cleaning, all the better. I flip out and go on a rampage. I even yell, to my utter shame, "get out of my way!" People scurry, flee, even yelp in terror when I walk by. Dear Sir, the other adult, just stands back and watches, amazed at what I can get done in a split second because furry has become me.

"You're crazy," he says.


A Day From the Bowels of Heathens

Check that out. The original crack got worse---you can't see it all because of the lighting---all the way up to the bridge. Now the crack is split open. I can smell the glue the repairman used for the original crack near the bottom of the body of the guitar. All this showed itself yesterday. I almost threw up when I saw it, and then I just plain sat down and wept for a minute. Then I got a hold of myself and decided that I have mourned enough for this guitar, I am done. I just need a new one. So I don't know how things are going to pan out over here.

But other than that, yesterday morning gave me a good laugh when my daughter came downstairs and popped her head in the door while I was running:
The doom of the guitar came later when I had the kids take a school break and I went to take a mommy break and practice guitar. Then the whole day swirled into freakdom, but I still managed to iterate to my son that a.) I am not perfect, I am just as prideful as he is b.) I make hordes of mistakes on a daily basis c.) he does not get Game Cube back until Thursday. I also managed to still finish up school with the Girl even though it was nearly seven o'clock.

Dear Sir and I finished watching the disturbing documentary called Jesus Camp, I nursed my knee that I can not run on today, and oh yeah, folded laundry. Let's not forget that I made two separate meals because the power went out right at dinner time (directly after I talked to Dear Sir before he left for work and told him I would make him fried chicken), so I made a tray of chicken nuggets for the kids, poured myself a glass of wine, and made fried chicken, biscuits, vegetables, and even dessert once the power kicked back on around six. It was dark. Very dark. And my Oldest insisted on playing dark scary music on the piano while I scurried around trying to light all the candles I had. Except---I didn't get to light ALL the candles, you see, because the Girl misplaced my tea lights that I had---everysingleoneofthem----and she happened to be next door at the neighbor girl's house. I sent Eraser Eater out with the flash light to ask her where the heck she put them all. By that time, the power came back on. Next time.

And as I was washing the dishes after dinner I reflected on the fact that I did not have the tea lights---I did not have all the candles. I did not have as many as I would have wanted available. And I thought about my friend, who always has snow boots and snow suits and whatnot for her kids when it snows, and me, who has nothing because it only snows twice a year here if that and I don't want to spend the money or time trying to find it all cheap. And then I realized that I am a person that lacks preparation because I am so ridiculously forgetful, and then that depressed me. I thought of myself as like the Virgins who have their lamps and the others that did not come with enough oil. I remembered that a Proverbs 31 woman has her family prepared for all seasons so they do not fear when the bad weather comes. And then I remembered that my guitar is broken again, my cycle is at hand, other outside things I do not share here have cropped up, and I have a zit on my chin. A big one.


Nothing Makes Sense

The FFN movie was a disappointment for me. Well, I had seen it so many times as a kid, that I remembered all the dialog, everything that occurred, etc, etc. It is just the story line. It makes no sense. I mean, it does, but it is stupid! The planet of Fantasia, or whatever it is called, has too many different kinds of living beings, it gets confusing. The boy, Atrayu (or however you spell his name) screams all the time and he is annoying. The luck dragon is just plain idiotic. "With luck you can do anything"? Come on. The whole puppet thing bothers me anyway. But---the kids loved it. Loved it. Lisa, I would dare not see a sequel. The first is bad enough.

On Saturday I needed to make some dessert because we were heading out to D.C. to a friend's house for dinner later, and so I asked the Girl if she wanted to accompany me to the store. She is such a tremendous help to me at times. When we got in the store, she had gotten one of those mini carts to push around. At first, she just sat down in the bottom basket, thinking she could just rest or something. I had to grab it quickly because she tripped and fell on her hands, way too heavy for the cart. She stood up, walked beside me by a pile of fruit, and sort of sulked.
I asked her if she was ok. She said she was fine, but she got scared and is embarrassed. I hugged her, consoled her, and we moved on.

When we finished, I went to the self-check line and the Girl bagged up the groceries and put them in the cart. I didn't have to do anything, it was really nice. She also insisted that she push the cart to the car, she could "handle it."

Earlier in the day we got on the subject about how I make mistakes and how imperfect I am. She refused to believe this. She would shake her head and get upset about it.

So---while in the car on the way home from the store, I said to her, "You know, I really like you. I even like when you trip or fall or make mistakes. I love you just the way you are. You are imperfect, but I love you that way!"

I got a good look at her face in the rear-view mirror. Her head sort of snapped up, her eyes looked at me wide, and her face took on a mature and steady glance. "Mom," she said, "That just doesn't make any sense."

You can imagine how I laughed all the way home.



Tonight is Family Fun Night. Yeah, we do it over here. No, we are not Mormons and we don't think "family is forever." At least in the Mormon context. We just have Family Fun Night. They eat popcorn, the Girl gets out all the pillows and the blankets in the house, and they even move the coffee table. Dear Sir and I sit on the couch and keep each other warm. And Dear Sir eats popcorn. I don't. Huh. Apparently I make the best too. {cough, cough}

I usually make some sort of make-shift dinner (lately we have a lot of those), and then we watch a movie we are all dying to see. Well, sort of. Remember this one? I am prepared to be disappointed because I watched it so many times as a kid, the memory is just fine. It happens whenever I watch a movie like that as an adult--- it really lacks any goodness. The graphics are probably terrible (if there are any), and I just shudder to think what could be in it that I don't remember. But whatever. It is a weird movie.

And for a future FFN I got E.T. Get prepared to get your jaw off the floor when I say this: Dear Sir has never seen it. I know. What is up with that? And how could he even have memories of Drew Barrymore without seeing that one? Gee whiz.

I was so frightened of E.T. when I was a kid (I saw it at the drive-in) that my older brother used to have his friends call the house, have me answer it, and when I would hear "E.T. phone home!" I would drop the phone and run screaming to my room. Wicked, wicked, boy. I always thought his head looked sort of like a Tootsie Roll though. Why did I get that movie, I am going to have nightmares. Idiot.


I was just informed by the Girl (who is six) that the Book of Common Prayer says to "let your daughter go on barbie.com."



Putting the Oldest to Bed

I was reminded last night by Dear Sir of the cute but strange little things the Oldest has said in his short past (he is nearly 12). Last night the Oldest approached our bed (where we read a lot) to pray and hug us good night.

"He's coming to die, he's coming to die, he's coming to die," chimed Dear Sir.

"What are you saying?!" the Oldest laughed awkwardly, hands folded, ready to pray.

"You used to say that when you were little. We had no idea what you were talking about."

(I remembered at that moment, a semi-petrified little boy with tears in his eyes holding up a picture to show me. It had many scribbles, some red, and I think the depiction of a person under the scribbles. "He's coming to die!" said the boy with a quiver, "He's coming to die!" I think he meant Jesus, but I wasn't sure.)

"Santa Claus is coming to DIE!" Dear Sir sang.

"WHAT?!" piped the Oldest with a laugh, highly amused, but perplexed.

"You used to sing that too," said Dear Sir.

"That sounds kind of cute, but kind of weird," said the Oldest, still folding his hands with a smile. I noticed how nice of a smile he has now. I couldn't believe how enormous he looked.

"A doo-doo bah, aaaaahhhhh da woosie!" sang Dear Sir, torturing the boy with the familiar bathtub song the Oldest made up when he was extremely little, well before he could speak much.


We laughed at him a good bit.

"Let's pray," said Dad.


Un-Sated Four Day Streak

I have been constantly hungry. I don't know what the deal is, but I have been eating so much food that my belly has literally taken the form of a pregnant woman. I probably have a worm. I started lifting slight weights though. That can't be it. Could it? Naw...it has only been a couple of hard workout days. Nothing major. Tonight for dinner: a small croissant sandwich, a bowl of chili, a handful of tortilla chips, two slices of mango, a few bbq chips, a big hunk of French bread, half of a truffle, and an ice cream sandwich. That's a lot, people. A lot. I am not even going to get on that scale either, man. And you can't make me. Ha ha. The sad thing is that I only ran three miles today because I was too dang lazy, finally got myself on the treadmill way too late, and then ran out of time. I could only pull off three miles like the moron I am.

Listen to my stupid words of wisdom that I used today. I am useless:

I was at co-op today and a mother offered me a pirouette. You know those things that are long and stick like that you dip in coffee? She said, "Want one? They are low in calories. Just some thin, crispy cookie with chocolate filling..."

Here is my stupid quotable, as I grab one from her tin, "Calories, schmalories."

She looks at me up and down. "Well you are a lot smaller than me." Just smack me, ok? Just smack me. I deserve it.

"I run a lot," I said, popping the last of the dealy in my mouth. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Oh gee, I know. I run here and there, up and down the stairs, this way and that, and you would think I would be smaller!!"

"Yeah. Well, I am just an exercise freak," I said, making a sour face. I was hoping that it would add a little "poo-poo" to the whole idea.

"You mean you run run. Oh, I get it."

Calories, schmalories. Whatever that was. Like I don't care about that? What, am I nuts? I just ate half the contents of my flipping refrigerator and I say calories, schmalories? What kind of idiotic thing is that? I am a pig. A good for nothing pig that is going to eat the rest of the refrigerator right now. Excuse me.


The Shark

I have a beverage warmer still in the package that I got a few years ago in a gift basket. It has set in our junk drawer ever since we moved here to this house, a year and a half ago. I have always refrained from opening it, thinking a beverage warmer way too extravagant. I know. It is a stupid beverage warmer. Like a flipping rotating tie rack. You don't need it. I think I doubted it worked for some reason, just like those who refuse to get a dishwasher because they seriously believe that it probably doesn't do a very good job.

So just now, I opened it just to see if it would work. Who else would I give it to? What else would I do with it? I may as well spoil myself. I just put a cup of coffee gone cold (ok, maybe there is only an inch of coffee left in the cup) on it to test. Hold on....let me go check. No, the cold coffee is not warm yet. Give it time, right? I guess.

I have gotten my house in decent order, except I have to clean the boys' bathroom. It is just rank 24-7. Let's not talk about it. I had so little to do today because I made no plans, I was able to talk to a couple of friends. Last night (you will keel over and die when you hear this confession) I ironed all the clothes in the closet of my own accord (that is TWICE in a month and the month isn't even over yet!) last night in my spare time. Dear Sir needed his casual Friday gear pressed (his only pair of jeans). The only thing I can tell you to explain this ironing streak (actually, phenomenon, miracle, whatever paranormal descriptive word you choose) is that we just recently got a new iron called a "shark" and it blows out steam like a locomotive and growls like a lion. I rather like it. It irons the crap out of clothes too because it gets excessively hot. I bought it at Costco and it was the best thirty or forty bucks I have spent there. If you have a shark, you will just waltz to the ironing board instead of hide from it.

And with that, enjoy your weekend. I have a few heads to smack together and some chicken to fry.


This Bird Has Flown

My daughter is nuts. I don't realize it until I see her in action at times, but she literally is NUTS. She will sometimes holler to me from the back seat of the car and ask me to look at her. Oftentimes she will be making some frozen creepy face followed by a cackling laugh.

She just approached me and asked me for breakfast in her whinniest voice, then I said, "You know I don't respond to that," as I got up to heat up her pancakes.

She laughed heartily, did a dance and said, "But you are responding!" Her laugh was so full of glee I took the fork in my hand and stabbed her in the belly with it. It just made her laugh harder and triumphantly dance around in a circle. I was responding. She is smarter than me.

"When I watched {the Oldest} play his game on the gameboy I said, 'the elves are invading!'"
She leaned around, danced a bit, froze, then moved, and sat down to eat her pancakes drizzled with Log Cabin syrup. She set her hands about six inches above the steam and gave me a peculiar look.

"You're a weirdo," I said.

"YES," she said through gritted teeth.


I Love Insults

This is the fun part of the year where I get to rake for an eternity. I realize that I should already be done, but good grief, I live in a forest and the wind blows and if I would have done the deed a couple of months ago, I would be doing it again right now.

My neighbor (insult lady) came over and commented at how she got most of her leaves raked professionally. She was suggesting to me that I do it as well.
"He only charged me $125," she said with a smile.
I scoped out my yard from where we were standing, at the porch. "It will take a lot more than $125 to do my lawn," I said matter-of-fact-ly.
"Yes, but if you don't, all your leaves will blow into my yard....just kidding...." she did the little whimpering sound she makes to indicate she is really not kidding, and laughed a little.
"I know your pain," I began, "since we are on the corner here, we get the whole neighborhood's leaves. As you can see, the place where all the leaves are in my yard---yes----there are NO TREES, which means, those have blown from somewhere...and I get to rake them up every year."
In plain speech, tough luck. One reason why I don't want to pay for it. I would rather burn some calories out there getting the leaves in my own lawn and get something from it than pay someone to literally do the whole street. That is the worry of putting money into something because you be too lazy to go out and do it yo self.

When I was working on my paned icon art, she came over and thought she would teach me how to paint. We were near a door way and she decided to demonstrate. "Look here," she said, pointing to a closet close to us and it's door frame, "Whoever did this did a really crappy job. It is not a good straight line like you would want. Oh wait a minute. You painted this, didn't you? Oh, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. I have a way of hurling insults, don't I?"

"That's quite alright," I said. The sad thing is, I am the best painter I know. Behold, my gorgeous blue and coffee colored striped wall. Eat my shorts.


I Am a Sagitarius

Here is a lovely meme that I have been tagged for by Avery Gray. I think I got her mad once because I spelled her name as "Grey" once and she hates that. So---she spelled my name with an extra "a" and boy, am I feeling it. I'm not letting that one go, sweetheart.

This is the month I was born, and here are the traits that fit me and don't fit me. It is like astrology, which is bogus, but I will play along. He he. My neighbor would be proud. She goes on and on about Sagitariuses and how they are so self-ish (she had dated a few) and I say, "What the heck, I am a Sagitarius!" and of course, the expert blurts out (to save her butt), "but you are a woman and that doesn't count!" For crying in a bucket, how is that true? It is based on month, not gender, am I right? Good grief...anyhow, I am selfish, ok? Because Orion, a planet, and two other stars lit up at the right time, aligned themselves and made it so. And I just made a fool of myself because I have no idea what I am talking about and it is apparent.

1.Loyal and generous. I would seriously like to think so. I forsake buying underwear so can buy the kids some shampoo. As far as loyal---I am like a dog.
2. Sexy. Not talking about it.
3. Patriotic. Seriously, not in the least. This almost made me laugh out loud. Don't bite me people, I have the freedom of speech!
4. Active in games and interactions. I guess I can be if I get into it. Can you tell I am totally buying this whole thing? Gee whiz! I am morphing!
5. Impatient and hasty. I certainly get impatient----like when three kids are talking to me at the same time or when Eraser Eater starts whining at me----lips wrap around heads, man. Watch out. I am not hasty. Who am I kidding, this thing has me pegged.
6. Ambitious. This is true. And I don't make resolutions on New Year's because of it!
7. Influential in organizations. Like bookclubs? Co-ops? Maybe. Who knows what this means. I'm just a housewife who has not seen much of the world.
8. Fun to be with. I completely beg to differ. I am kind of a downer to be around in lots of ways. The kids don't think I am too fun. If I smile they are elated. Try me out when I am raking leaves. I am the best company. I like to say short little irritated phrases like, "Move!" "Hold the bag!" "Lift it!" "Open it up, for Pete's sake!" "You are STANDING THERE IT IS NOT HARD TO DO!"
9. Loves to socialize. Maybe. Not really. I mean, social situations scare me at first but then of course, like usual, I adapt. And to avoid awkward silences I blab out a bunch of stuff I shouldn't too. Dear Sir just loves that part.
10. Loves praises. Last time I checked, everyone loves praises. I only love praises though that are sincere. I HATE flattery and I can sense it from a mile away.
11. Loves attention. I have a love-hate relationship with attention. I will not explain this.
12. Loves to be loved. I actually hate to be loved. What kind of dumb new-found revelation is that?
13. Honest and trustworthy. In all humility I can honestly say that this is true.
14. Not pretending. Flattery is much like pretending.
15. Short tempered. It takes a lot to make me angry---I am just short tempered with my kids. When you have kids, all the bad stuff just doesn't leak out, it pours out.
16. Changing personality. Ok, I am confused now. Isn't "not pretending" not changing personality? How can I be both? I change personalities? Well, I kind of do. I actually do. Yep, that's me.
17. Not egotistic. Everyone is egotistic. I am just less. And perfect to boot.
18. Take high pride in oneself. I have a lot to say about this but I won't get preachy. Pride cometh before a fall, right? Refer to #17.
19. Hates restrictions. I love restrictions. They comfort me. Restrictions mean that I have less decisions to make.
20. Loves to joke. I thoroughly enjoy joking. Most of the time when I do it though, no one gets it, I look like a complete idiot, and people take me seriously. A friend once told me that when I joke I have a completely serious face and freak people out by it. I think this is true. It is hard for people to read me at first. I am working on it, ok? Acquired taste, like red wine. I am much like red wine.
21. Good sense of humor. You know, I think I have one, and lots of other people do too, but Dear Sir just doesn't think I am funny. He doesn't even laugh at what I laugh at. I think he is very funny and he doesn't get it. I found one time a letter from him when we were dating and he stated all the things he loved about me. One of them was that I was funny. I am confused. I think he was just trying to marry me. I have been duped.
22. Logical. Do I have to be logical to have common sense? It usually takes me a good while to figure out the easier way of doing things. I struggle with both logic and common sense.

Here I am tagging 12 people. Do I know that many? Maybe I will scale it down to eight just because I am more of a simple person. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Hopefully if some of you read this you will be inspired to WRITE once in awhile:

1) Natalie
2) Lobsy
3) Phantom Sandwich
4) EmmaS
5) August
6) Leslee
7) Lisa
8) Americanspark

Okay, now the boring part...

Here are the instructions:

1. Mention the person who tagged you and create a link back to them.
2. Copy-paste the traits for all the twelve months.
3. Pick your month of birth.
4. Highlight the traits that apply to you.
5. Tag 12 people and let them know by visiting their blogs and leaving a
comment for them.
6. Let the person who tagged you know when you've done it!


JANUARY: Stubborn and hard-hearted. Ambitious and serious. Loves to teach
and be taught. Always looking at people's flaws and weaknesses. Likes to
criticize. Hardworking and productive. Smart, neat and organized. Sensitive
and has deep thoughts. Knows how to make others happy. Quiet unless excited
or tensed. Rather reserved. Highly attentive. Resistant to illnesses but
prone to colds. Romantic but has difficulties expressing love. Loves
children. Loyal. Has great social abilities yet easily jealous. Very
stubborn and money cautious.

FEBRUARY: Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract. Intelligent and
clever. Changing personality. Attractive. Sexy. Temperamental. Quiet, shy
and humble. Honest and loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves freedom.
Rebellious when restricted. Loves aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily
hurt. Gets angry really easily but does not show it. Dislikes unnecessary
things. Loves making friends but rarely shows it. Daring and stubborn.
Ambitious. Realizes dreams and hopes. Sharp. Loves entertainment and
leisure. Romantic on the inside not outside. Superstitious and ludicrous.
Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions.

MARCH: Attractive personality. Sexy. Affectionate. Shy and reserved.
Secretive. Naturally honest, generous and sympathetic. Loves peace and
serenity. Sensitive to others. Loves to serve others. Easily angered.
Trustworthy. Appreciative and returns kindness. Observant and assesses
others. Revengeful. Loves to dream and fantasize. Loves traveling. Loves
attention. Hasty decisions in choosing partners. Loves home decors.
Musically talented. Loves special things. Moody.

APRIL: Active and dynamic. Decisive and hasty but tends to regret.
Attractive and affectionate to oneself. Strong mentality. Loves attention.
Diplomatic. Consoling, friendly and solves people's problems. Brave and
fearless. Adventurous. Loving and caring. Suave and generous. Emotional.
Aggressive. Hasty. Good memory. Moving. Motivates oneself and others.
Sickness usually of the head and chest. Sexy in a way that only their lover
can see.

MAY: Stubborn and hard-hearted. Strong-willed and highly motivated. Sharp
thoughts. Easily angered. Attracts others and loves attention. Deep
feelings. Beautiful physically and mentally. Firm Standpoint. Needs no
motivation. Easily consoled. Systematic (left brain). Loves to dream. Strong
clairvoyance. Understanding. Sickness usually in the ear and neck. Good
imagination. Good physical. Weak breathing. Loves literature and the arts.
Loves traveling. Dislike being at home. Restless. Not having many children.
Hardworking. High spirited. Spendthrift.

JUNE: Thinks far with vision. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and
soft-spoken. Having ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to
delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous.
Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. Knows
how to make friends. Able to show character. Easily hurt. Prone to getting
colds. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes
time to recover when hurt. Brand conscious. Executive. Stubborn.

JULY: Fun to be with. Secretive. Difficult to fathom and to be understood.
Quiet unless excited or tensed. Takes pride in oneself. Has reputation.
Easily consoled. Honest. Concerned about people's feelings. Tactful.
Friendly. Approachable. Emotional temperamental and unpredictable. Moody and
easily hurt. Witty and sparkly. Not revengeful. Forgiving but never forgets.
Dislikes nonsensical and unnecessary things. Guides others physically and
mentally. Sensitive and forms impressions carefully. Caring and loving.
Treats others equally. Strong sense of sympathy. Wary and sharp. Judges
people through observations. Hardworking. No difficulties in studying. Loves
to be alone. Always broods about the past and the old friends. Likes to be
quiet. Homely person. Waits for friends. Never looks for friends. Not
aggressive unless provoked. Prone to having stomach and dieting problems.
Loves to be loved. Easily hurt but takes long to recover.

AUGUST: Loves to joke. Attractive. Suave and caring. Brave and fearless.
Firm and has leadership qualities. Knows how to console others. Too generous
and egoistic. Takes high pride in oneself. Thirsty for praises.
Extraordinary spirit. Easily angered. Angry when provoked. Easily jealous.
Observant. Careful and cautious. Thinks quickly. Independent thoughts. Loves
to lead and to be led. Loves to dream. Talented in the arts, music and
defense. Sensitive but not petty. Poor resistance against illnesses. Learns
to relax. Hasty and trusty. Romantic. Loving and caring. Loves to make

SEPTEMBER: Suave and compromising. Careful, cautious and organized. Likes to
point out people's mistakes. Likes to criticize. Stubborn. Quiet but able to
talk well. Calm and cool. Kind and sympathetic. Concerned and detailed.
Loyal but not always honest. Does work well. Very confident. Sensitive. Good
memory. Clever and knowledgeable. Loves to look for information. Must
control oneself when criticizing. Able to motivate oneself. Understanding.
Fun to be around. Secretive. Loves leisure and traveling. Hardly shows
emotions. Tends to bottle up feelings. Very choosy, especially in
relationships. Systematic.

OCTOBER: Loves to chat. Loves those who loves them. Loves to take things at
the center. Inner and physical beauty. Lies but doesn't pretend. Gets angry
often. Treats friends importantly. Always making friends. Easily hurt but
recovers easily. Daydreamer. Opinionated. Does not care of what others
think. Emotional. Decisive. Strong clairvoyance. Loves to travel, the arts
and literature. Touchy and easily jealous. Concerned. Loves outdoors. Just
and fair. Spendthrift. Easily influenced. Easily loses confidence. Loves

NOVEMBER: Has a lot of ideas. Difficult to fathom. Thinks forward. Unique
and brilliant. Extraordinary ideas. Sharp thinking. Fine and strong
clairvoyance. Can become good doctors. Dynamic in personality. Secretive.
Inquisitive. Knows how to dig secrets. Always thinking. Less talkative but
amiable. Brave and generous. Patient. Stubborn and hard-hearted. If there is
a will, there is a way. Determined. Never give up. Hardly becomes angry
unless provoked. Loves to be alone. Thinks differently from others.
Sharp-minded. Motivates oneself. Does not appreciate praises. High-spirited.
Well-built and tough. Deep love and emotions. Romantic. Uncertain in
relationships. Homely. Hardworking. High abilities. Trustworthy. Honest and
keeps secrets. Not able to control emotions. Unpredictable.

DECEMBER: Loyal and generous. Sexy. Patriotic. Active in games and
interactions. Impatient and hasty. Ambitious. Influential in organizations.
Fun to be with. Loves to socialize. Loves praises. Loves attention. Loves to
be loved. Honest and trustworthy. Not pretending. Short tempered. Changing
personality. Not egotistic. Take high pride in oneself. Hates restrictions.
Loves to joke. Good sense of humor. Logical.

Me Embarrassed

Now that I have scared about five people, I can freely say that I have no intention of not blogging, it was a total joke. I have been running around getting school started, picking up my guitar from the shop (AGAIN!) and all that stuff.

I should be doing school right now, but I am only schooling the Oldest and the Girl minimally today because Eraser Eater is sick. Yesterday he really came down with it and said he was going to barf. Of course, this is not even a barfing sickness; he just gets headaches and barfs with them. It is entirely sad. So--he sat on the couch and waited for dinner, but fell asleep before it was ready. I had given him medicine so I suppose it kicked in. Poor kid.

Yesterday a guy (an employee) tried to "pick me up" at Guitar Center by telling me that he was getting a tattoo of a poem by Edgar Allan Poe on his back. I think he was trying to convince me that he was into literature and he was a romantic, like Poe. I had the Girl with me but he didn't care---he stuck to me and the guitar repairman like a leech. I was trying to tell him that perhaps he would regret his decision to ink his body with a poem as I thoroughly imagined his body, cold, dead and in a coffin with "A Dream Within a Dream" drilled on his back. It was an ugly sight.

I always have this plight when going there. I get rosy cheeked and embarrassed because I know that I am going to be unashamedly hit on. Those musicians tell you like they see it---I am serious. I think a good security would be to have kids with me, but it really doesn't matter. I thought that when I turned thirty perhaps the number itself would be plastered to my forehead from now on, but no one has any idea.

So---if you are a lady and want to feel young, walk into a Guitar shop with your guitar, and they crawl all over you for some reason.


Happy New Year! It is Eraser Eater's birthday today. Dear Sir wants me to dye my hair blonde, and I have resolved not to blog. Are you scared now?

I have a party to throw. See ya.