June 2 '06

Today is the 50th wedding anniversary of my folks, two of the finest people it is my pleasure to know. We are knee deep in the hoopla, so I don't have time to say much more at the moment, but check back this weekend for a recap.

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

May 28,'06

Memorial Day, 2006...it's hotter than snot, the pools are all open, the Minnesota landscape is littered with doughy white skin pouring out of short shorts and tank tops...summer is here. And in between hot dogs and beers I will take the kidlets to the cemetary on our bikes, and we will say a prayer for those who have left us and a prayer for the safety and well being of the men and women serving in uniform today. Thank You.

Saw lots of painters while I was out on my run; love it. There's really not many things funner than painting outside on a beautiful day, it was one of my very favorite things to do and I haven't done it since I had Finny and started writing down every banal thought that popped into my head. My paintings were almost as horrifying as the stuff I post here, but if I didn't have this, I'd dump all my leftover "creative" (I use that term loosely) energy into my children and I think we all agree that would be a bad idea. By the grace of God the kiddies are lovely people despite being saddled with me as their mother, and who am I to mess with the status quo?

Two kinds of people in the world; those who are normal and those who think they are the only ones who should be allowed to go flower shopping/take a walk/ride a bike/buy food on a gorgeous holiday weekend.

You know who I'm talking about, the jerk who simply cannot believe how crowded it is at Bachman's, so he spends the entire time he's trapped in line (just like everyone else) bitching and moaning about it until it's his turn at the register where he heaps verbal abuse on the poor kid ringing him up, who's only working there for the summer so she can pay for fall term and one day graduate, get a better job and buy a house with a yard that needs flowers... he's the same guy who thinks everyone should get the hell out of his way on the walking/running/bike path at 2:30 on a sunny Saturday because he really needs to feel the burn. It so offends him that anyone would dare push a stroller or stop to chat with a neighbor, he's compelled to say something snarky or worse, just barrell right into people. Because he is the most important person in the land. In the winter, when it's too cold to buy flowers or ride his bike, he can be found sitting at stop signs in his car, angrily waving everyone else through, the self-appointed Lord of the Intersection. How dare you come to a stop. I was coming to a stop.

Saw possibly the worst movie of the last year Friday night, "Rumor Has It". WOW!

Jennifer Aniston plays a gal who suspects her family is the inspration for the movie "The Graduate"; kind of a cute premise. To say it was poorly executed would be kind.

Jennifer Aniston: "I hate my family, because they live in nice houses and play tennis and don't spend every second of every day whining. Except for my gramma, becasue she has a mouth like a sailor and who doesn't love that? Especially when played by Shirley MaClaine, who is fast becoming a cinematic caricature of herself? Plus I think my dad might not really be my dad because he drives slow and I drive fast. I think I'll go find Kevin Costner and see if he's my dad."

Kevin Costner: "I'm not your dad."

Jennifer Aniston: "Then by all means, let's have sex!" rumprumprump.

Jennifer Aniston: "Omig** you are my dad!"

Kevin Costner: "I am not!"

Jennifer Aniston: "Whewww...let's have sex again!"

Shirley MaClaine: "G**d*****!!"

Jennifer Aniston: "I love Mark Ruffalo!"

fini.

HAVE A WONDERFUL HOLIDAY!!

May 25, '06

"Hi, my name's Prince! Ever heard of me? So you want to be a star, is that right? Well you're not. You're a chubby girl in a too-tight dress and a goofy pudge-ball who bears a striking resemblance to Dame Edna. I AM A STAR."

Anyone who watched the American Idol two-hour finale Wednesday night knows exactly what I'm talking about; I actually felt sorry for Kat and Taylor after The Shy One performed. Fer cryin'...that delicate little lilac-lovin' sprite woulda made Bono look like a hack in comparison.

So in order to give a truly fair assessment of last night's show, let us forget, at least for the duration of this post, that Prince was ever there, throwing knowing winks at Paula; let us pretend that last night's show took place during a simpler time, say season three, when a formaldehyde-soaked Paul Anka was the biggest name the show was able to attract.*

On with it. All of last year's also-rans were present at the Kodak theater, glad-handing their way up the red carpet, trying to resuscitate what was never really breathing in the first place. Right off the bat Constantine Maroulis won the "Know how I know you're not gay award" by pairing a black suit with light brown shoes. No gay man would ever make a fashion blunder like that.

The opening number featured our class of '06 singing "I Made It Through the Rain", all of them dressed in white, and of course no AI sing-along would be complete without that tired gospel choir shuffling onto the stage halfway through the song...hey guys, it was kind of chill-inducing the first time you did it, but it loses it's power a bit when you've seen it 543 times in one show. The choir even looked bored with itself. Cut to our judges: Paula actually wore something not completely embarrassing for once, but no worries, Simon picked up the slack by treating us all to a big fat eyeful of his chest plumage. Good gravy, his "you know you think I'm seggzy" shirt- unbuttoned-down-to-there look was too cheesy for the International Porn Star awards. Randy looked as he always does, like he's Jabba the Hutt dressed as Spike Lee for Halloween.

Poor Kat, I've not been a huge fan of hers all year, but I didn't think it was fair that Taylor got this season's resident sex-kittens The O'Donohue twins as his Soul-Patrol correspondents and all she got was the re-animated carcass of Tamyra Gray, dug out from the bottom of the season-one scrapheap. Plus when they cut to her fans, it was all tight shots to try and make the crowd look like more than 12 people.

The top five kids all got to sing duets with their own idols, and with the exception of Al Jarreau (who sang with Paris), all the "established" singers stank. OK, Mary J. Blige didn't stink, but I thought it was absurd that she got to sing 99% of the song she was supposed to share with Elliott; this was his night, she's already famous. In effect, she musically c---b------ him. Meatloaf looked like Chris Farley doing an imitation of Meatloaf. Toni Braxton's voice sounded like sheet and she did a dirty bump and grind to "In the Ghetto"...has she ever listened to the words of that song?? Chris sang with Live and that was good, so take back what I said about "with the exception of Al Jarreau."

Carrie Underwood performed, and she looked and sounded fantastic. Clay Aiken also performed...he looked like Lindsay Lohan and sounded like Cher.

Halfway through the show Mike blurted out, "I'm in love with Kelly Pickler." He always thought she was cute, but her new sassy haircut done him in.

And, of course, Taylor Hicks was crowned the American Idol...I wanted it to be him and Chris in the final, but even if Chris had made it that far, I still think Taylor woulda won. The guy is just stinkin' great. He even took that crap song they made him sing and he sang it well. Very Proud of Taylor, all Dame Edna jokes aside....when he first appeared in the auditions, he was our favorite, and he was such a long shot...and isn't that what America is all about? (cue violins...quietly at first, then swelling to a loud orchestral roar...better yet, where's that gospel choir?) It's about someone like Taylor, an unlikely Idol, coming out of the backwoods with just a harmonica and a dream and emerging victorious.

And it's about the O'Donohue twins flaming out early and going on to become Maxim cover girls.

*No disrespect meant towards the impressive career of Mr. Anka, but even as far back as three years ago he was not exactly in demand...his last hit, 1974's "(You're) Having My Baby", was recorded before any of the AI contestants were even born. Whoops, according to Answers.com, he had another hit in '75 called "Times of Your Life", but I've never heard of that song and therefore, I will casually dismiss it. Besides, all the hits in the world don't erease the disturbing fact that Mr. Anka looks these days frighteningly like a singing grape tomato.

May 22 '06

The following story is from my brother, who substitutes as a special ed teacher from time to time:

Last week I'm at the Junior high school and my assignment is to walk around with a kid with Down's syndrome. He's in 8th grade, and he's the first down's guy I've ever met who's shy. He doesn't talk. He just stares.  So I sit next to him in his classes and help him spell words and stuff, and take him to lunch, and finally he starts to warm up to me.  

After lunch, he has P.E., so I take him over to the gym and we're there early so I tell him we have to wait, but when I turned to him, I see him down in a three point stance. At this point a little voice in the back of my head says "OH oh..."  HE CHARGES ME AND TRIES TO TAKE ME DOWN! 

I'm close enough to the building to be able to brace myself, so I keep my feet under me, but here I am, alone, by the gym, a 150 pound kid wrapped around me, trying to wrestle me to the ground. At first I'm like whoa, dude! and trying to get him to calm down, but finally I went into Nick Bockwinkle mode and pinned him to the ground.

Now he's all dirty, and I'm all sweaty, and I'm wondering how I'm gonna explain this if someone were to walk around the corner right now. And the kid is laughing his ass off! What a great game!  So I finally let him up, and sure enough, he's down in a stance again! I'm thinking what do I do, Run? DON'T SHOW FEAR!!!! So he comes at me again, but this time I know what's up, so I take him down.

When the P.E. teacher shows up, the kid is face down in the dirt, and I'm sitting on his back to keep him there.  P.E. boy stops and looks at us, then says "He try to tackle you?" I say yeah, he just nods and goes into his office. Meanwhile, the kid is yelling "I'm strong! I'm strong!"

I know I said I'd write Friday but it was a crazy busy weekend and anyway, I'm pretty sure it's Friday somewhere.

Went over to Nordeast for the Art-a-whirl thingy, and ran into an old friend, Jim, from back in the day....haven't seen him in 18 years, so that was fun.

Then we hit this great restaurant over there and the waitress was a girl I went to grade school with, and she looked exactly the same. We screamed and hugged and chatted, and when I got home I felt a tinge of sadness as I thought to myself, "Tonight I ran into two people I haven't seen in eons...and this is what I was wearing?" Seriously, lots of fun.

Finny had a baseball game at the crack on Saturday; I do believe people who schedule ball games for 9 am on Saturdays should be force-fed salmon until they vomit.

It was my turn to bring the snack. I've metioned this here before, but I'm completely opposed to the whole concept of "Precious just experienced movement, please administer food immediately". God forbid any of the little darlings have a hypoglycemic attack or actually feel the sensation of hunger.

So in an attempt to be subversive I brought giant powdered sugar donuts. People, I was sending a message: Has it been almost an hour since shnookums had a snack? Well here you go then, stuff yourself with donuts, you bloated bunch of whiners! Maybe that'll take the sting out the fact that you whiffed twice and then grounded out to first!

OK, we all know the real reason I got them was they looked good and I wanted one or three.

I don't know which team won. It's one of those "Everybody wins!" type deals where the only thing worse than going without food for ten seconds would be one team beating the other, but the score was something like 13-12. The scores during basketball season were always around 2-3, and the baseball scores are through the stratosphere.

Molly came running into the bathroom (while I was in there) the other day yelling in a panicky voice that she had to blow her nose. She blew 'n blew n' blew n' blew and then turned to me and shrieked, "Mommy it won't come out!"

I tilted her head back and sure enough, there was something in there...I closed her other nostril and barked "BLOW" and out flew a piece from the game "Battleship".

Why? Why?

I'll tell you why, it's simple really:

A) She's four

B) She had a small object in her posession and an empty hole in her face.

May 17 '06

You didn't really think I wasn't gonna write after Idol tonight, didja?

Yeah, I said I wasn't gonna watch any more after Chris got the boot, but I've had a week to mull it over and I decided it wasn't fair to Elliott and Taylor to not watch. And darn it if those two goofy misfits didn't bring it, cuz they did. Chris's absence notwithstanding, Taylor can sing his cojones off.

And Elliott...oh, Elliott...

He got shown the door, and I'm actually just a blubbering ball of goo right now, I love that little deaf, diabetic, mother-lovin' mensch ...They did this whole "hometown heros" thing tonight where the final three get to go home and be superstars, and Taylor's was great; thousands of people, parades, the governor, the whole shebang.

Katharine's...not so much, all she got was a pretty lame and not-so-well attended pep rally at her old high school, and you could practically lip-read the bitchy girls in the background rolling their eyes and saying "Neat, American Idol, my dad is Tom Cruise's agent." Kat has the bad luck of being from a place where everyone's famous; here in fly-over country she's gorgeous and talented but as Mary Louise said, in LA she's just another fat girl. She doesn't help herself by admitting she never calls her parents, however....especially when you put her next to Elliott, who doesn't make a move without his sickly mother strapped to his back. Oh, I'm gonna start cryin' again...

Elliot's homecoming made a believer even out of Mike...thousands of people, big parade, his poor sick mom unable to even look up she's so teary eyed...the topper was when he took off his hat out of respect to the soldiers at the ballgame...and then he threw a pretty decent pitch. Mike turned to me and said, "He needs this more than Katharine does." Word. That's what I beentryintasay, holmes.

But he got the boot. Why? Because the world isn't nice to people like Elliott, that's why. We all say we want to help the sick, the suffering, the snaggle-toothed, but when push comes to shove we pick the pretty girl, who let's face it, has probably already shot her Maxim cover and doesn't really need my help to make her dreams come true.

But I had to love it anyway, at the end when Elliott said "I always knew this is what I wanted to do, I just didn't know how to get there" and then they cut to him singing in front of that huge crowd? C'mon. That's a movie of the week right there....Muzz called and she could barely talk, she was sobbing. And now I'm gonna again, too...

Steve just called, and said "So tonight they got to go home...Taylor to Birmingham, Katharine to Los Angeles and Elliot to Mordor." Mean!

But I was talkin' to Mary afterward and she said, "What did Clive Davis say Carrie Underwood's song was called? 'Let Jesus Do the Driving'?"

No, non-country music listener, it's "Jesus Take the Wheel".

"Let Jesus Do the Driving"...the hit follow-up to the number one single "That's What the Airbags Are For".

May 15 '06

So Mother's Day was grand...the weather bit donkey blarts but what do you expect, it's May in Minnesota. May and June traditionally stink, I don't know why, I don't make the rules. But it was lovely in all other ways, especially welcome after such an emotionally draining week (see below).

After nearly wearing out my hard drive* listening to Chris D's Elvis-cover mp3's, I got in a mood and rented the flick "Jailhouse Rock" for the kiddies....they've heard his music, of course, but have never seen any of his movies and it was time.

I haven't seen "Jailhouse Rock" since channel nine showed it during "Elvis Week" when I was about Meg's age. I was home sick in bed with a fever that lasted for days, which wasn't fun, but one of the perks of illness in our house was you got to take the little black-and-white kitchen television into your room and just watch the crap out of it until Mom or some flunky she sent in her stead would come in and take it back so she could see the news while she made dinner.

This may not sound like a perk to you, but we were not allowed to watch TV during the day willy-nilly at our house. There were special exceptions--most notably had to have been that strange "HBO on the roof" phase, see last month, maybe March, I can't remember, but that was short-lived and really, a one-off in our home's history.

The whole Elvis filmography was played that week, and I fell so hard...sighhhhhh....it was worse than the Glenn Campbell crush I had when I was five.

Did she just say she had a crush on Glen Campbell when she was five?

Yes. Mom had all his records and played them while she folded clothes. Need proof he was crush-worthy? Um, hi...

HOT. I used to walk around with my right arm wrapped around my own waist and pretend we were walking arm in arm. The time Andy busted me for kissing the basketball post in our backyard? That's right, I was pretending it was Glen.

The Elvis crush was worse, and unlike my other notably wicked childhood celebrity crushes, (Daryl Hall, Sylvester Stallone, Fonzi) I never really got over it.

Thoughts after re-watching Jailhouse Rock the other night:

A) My crush was/is completely justified

B) That just might be the worst script ever filmed.

Elvis plays an unlikable, surly jerk who gets thrown in jail after killing a guy in a bar fight. While in jail, he enters a talent show that is inexplicably shown on television ("Hey kids, gather 'round! It's time for the prison talent show!"???) setting the stage for his post-prison musical success.

He meets a girl! He's mean to her but she loves him anyway! His old fat cellmate shows up and tells him success has turned him into an unlikable surly jerk and punches him in the throat, possibly ending his singing career! The bandages come off and he can still sing! The girl still loves him! All is saved! Roll credits!

Beautiful.

*not a euphemism

May 12 'o6

Correction: Below I wrote "a showdown between Chris and Elliot", it should say "A showdown between Taylor and Elliot". Whoops.

The pain is subsiding a little, thanks for asking…even Meg, who swore after Wednesday’s American Idol-sponsored abortion of all that makes sense in this world asked me this morning what I thought next week’s theme would be. But as Andy says, a showdown between Chris and Elliot will have about as much edge as a fight between Bert and Ernie.

Speaking of Andy and fights, once when we were kids, oh, I think I was seven or eight, which would've made him eight or nine, the two of us snuck a hunting knife out of dad's dresser drawer and fought with it. Well, in true loving-older-brother-fashion, he used the actual knife and kindly gave me the sheath.

We circled each other like we saw outlaws do in Disney movies, then with no warning, quick as a cat Andy lunged and THWACK! Almost sliced my finger off. Holy crud we were so scared; way more worried about getting caught digging through dad's drawers than about me possibly bleeding to death. We spent a lot of time rooting through/playing with his stuff; he travelled extensively and had a huge collection of exotic things. Most of it was harmless, and in hindsight he realized that hiding that knife in his dresser next to the cigarillos (we smoked two before the knife fight) was maybe not the best idea even though I did not, in fact, bleed to death. We did get in big trouble, though.

My youngest child is having a hard time understanding the concept of ‘sin’.

The other night, after being told in no uncertain terms to get her cute little behind back in bed and keep it there, (her nightly ritual is to come down about 86 times, but this night she was up into the low hundreds) Finny came down and said she was out of bed again, buggin’ him again.

We knew, we could hear her, but when pressed she lied right to our fat faces, and no amount of threats or toy-taking away was gonna make her back down. Finally, I looked right into her eyes and said, “Molly, do you understand what happens to people who lie?”

“yes…” she said in a small voice.

“What happens to people who lie, Molly?”

“They don’t get to go to Heaven.”

She thought avoiding the admission of guilt would keep her from frying.

“But Molly, people who lie and then say they’re sorry do get to go to Heaven.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Honey, and God is very happy you said that. Do you know who is happy when you lie?”

“The devil?”

“Yes. And we want to make God happy, right?”

"Mommy?”

"Yes, Mol?"

“When you put your middle finger up it means you love the devil.”

I’ve never heard that one before, but who am I to argue?

May 11 '06

Here's your silver lining

I'm not going to even tell you who wrote this (suffice to say it wasn't my mom...OK, it was Billy) but I laughed so hard when I read it I now can't decide if maybe Chris being dismissed early was worth it....(and again, I must invoke the "I didn't write this please don't yell at me" defense, from here on out known as IDWTPDYAMD.) But this is simply a testament to the kind of passion Chris has inspired:

What a joke. The second f***rest giddily told Chris to leave... he all but yelled in his face "go back to your stupid job with that stupid blue shirt....you and your wife and your step-kids can trade down to a trailer for all the time from work you missed, ha ha ha" The second Chris was gone, the faults in the other 3 grew and grew and grew like the Grinch's heart. Katharine has a nice voice and no idea how to use it. When she tried to dance during the Elvis songs it was horrifying-- a caricature of a white person dancing. Taylor has an average voice at best and is pretty much a spaz. He has a ball and is fun to watch, but BUT... he's just not that good. I'd rather see Steve Brown than Taylor any day of the week, and we all know how far Steve got. My biggest tip to him would be to never, ever wear a tight, satiny shirt again.... Elliot looks like a kid who was rescued from the rubble of a nuclear accident. He has a nice voice but there is ZERO rock in it. The odds are very long as Simon like to say "in the real world"-- I see him as captain of the Wiggles some day.

Chris rocks. Chris will make it. Chris will ditch his wife and date the gal from "Stick It". The only other person I ever saw on this show that I thought would be a radio star was Kelly and he's better than she was. People know. Every single clip of the Idols with the famous singers it was obvious. Barry Manilow is the nicest man on earth and he had nice little suggestions for everyone. Chris sang two lines, Barry's eyes lit up and he just mumbled "wow....you don't need me!"

I think Chris had a hard time selling himself the way you have to on this show. At least I'd like to believe that. Last night when they showed the retarded fix up the garage commercial that ended with Katharine scratching Kermit the Frog's head... they cut to the Idols on stage and snaggle tooth Elliot was laughing like he'd just heard a joke about Bea Arthur. Poor Chris had a slight smile on his face that screamed, "oh my god is this gay... I can feel the last vestiges of my rock 'n roll soul slipping away... I'm sorry Mick, but they make me do this crap!"

"For those about to rock... We salute you" Chris is about to rock, people. Chris is about to rock.

May 10 '06

I know I said I wasn't going to write until Friday and really, I shouldn't, but the travesty of justice I just witnessed compelled me to fire up my laptop when I should be watching "What Not To Wear".

Chris Daughtry got sent home.

F*** IS WHAT I'M THINKING!

Got this from my niece, trying to finish up her sophomore year in college:

I have currently just returned home from a night at the library studying for
finals. As I stared at my books through a thick cloud of tears, I realized I
could study no longer. My life has lost its meaning, without Chris I fear I
can not go on. My initial reaction to these horrendous results was rage. Ask
my father, he knew what was coming when he picked up the other end of the
reciever at 8:31pm: "CHRIS?!?!?! *!@$#!!!(^*& bloody hell, are you #@*%@&!!
ME! Where's mom, I need to speak to mom....MOM!! %*^@&!@(!!!!!!! (this is the
first time i have ever heard my mother use a profanity in her life, and I am
glad she did it at such a fitting time) *#@%&@(! I  can't talk anymore, I need
to be alone, *click*." I swear I am not angry, I don't hate Katherine,I don't
hate smug Seacrest, I don't hate Rebecca Romijn for making me listen to Taylor
sing a song for no apparent reason only to have it cut out of my time to have
a proper farewell with my Chrissy- I didn't even get a full song goodbye! This
is all too much for me, I have 'had a bad day' as that stupid song reminds me
every week. I know I have three finals coming up in the next 36 hours and I
should be at the library doing the whole 'college cram thing', but I think my
time is going to be spent in the fetus position on my bed, eating myself to
death with oreos, and listening to all my illegally downloaded i-tunes of
Chris singing me 'Walk the line,' and 'Renegade'...get me up when Elliott
wins, otherwise just leave me be.

Well said, young scribe, I feel the exact same way...add guilt to my pile of steaming rage, however, since all this time I've backed Taylor. Taylor? What was I thinking? I didn't know...I didn't know...how empty I'd feel when Chris was gone. I always just assumed he'd win. I thought I was voting for the dark horse. Lesson learned: there's a reason dark horses are dark, they suck.

I thought a long, drug-induced sleep would make me feel better, but all the Tylenol pm in the world hasn't dulled what happened.

I'm wondering how I'm supposed to convince my kids to "work hard at something you love!" Why? So they can grow up to have Ryan Seacrest emasculate them in front of a jillion people?

I feel a need for some bumper stickers: "What Would Chris Do?" and "Nanny McPhee is not my Idol".

I wish I could offer some sort of encouragement to my niece, but I can't. I've tried to tell myself Chris will be fine, he'll be fine, right? But does anyone remember who came in fourth any year ever? Exactly...will he be just a footnote in history, right after (shudder) Bucky Covington?

And I do hate Rebecca Romijn, I always knew she was a stupid twat...who trades in Stamos for Jerry O'Connell?  

May 8 2006

So the big first communion was yesterday, and it was wonderful. Finny was so excited, and he looked so handsome in his little tie and sportcoat....awww. We had to go to a practice earlier in the week, and of course he paid absolutely no attention so he had no clue what to do, but it didn't matter, it all was fine. When he was done, instead of kneeling down to pray like he was supposed to he was busy slapping five and mouthing excited messages to his buddies who were stationed at various places around the church. I only whispered angrily at him once, and truthfully I wasn't really angry; it was an exciting day and I didn't want to burst his bubble.

We came home and grilled burgers with gramma and grampa and the St. Paul Hubbells, since little Woody had his first communion last week...a lovely day. Finny fell asleep with his new Rosary.

At my first communion, I wore a short white organza dress with puffy sleeves and a bib of accordian pleats across the front...Oh wait, maybe that was my wedding. No, it was first communion, I know because I didn't get super blitzed afterwards. Everyone told me I wouldn't even have time to drink at my own wedding I'd be so busy, and guess what? They were wrong.

Anyoots, I also had white tights and white patent leather wedge-heeled shoes...I was soooo excited because I thought they were real high heels and I was like a grown up. I kept trying to sneak them out of my room and wear them to school and my mom kept yelling at me, which come to think of it, is the same thing that happened in fourth grade when I joined the school basketball team...my dad bought me my first pair of Nike Cortez shoes and when I tried to wear them to school he bellowed, "Those are for basketball pratice only!"

Oh man, was I bummed. How was I supposed to keep up with (and I don't mean on the basketball court) Jackie Talberg in my K-mart tennis shoes? She had the Cortez's (is it Cortez's? Corti? ) with the red stripes and painted-on Gloria Vanderbilt jeans with white stitching. (Yes, I did say fourth grade. I'm appalled! Appalled I tell you!) We had to wear uniforms, but Jackie took off her jumper and put those jeans on for recess and then again the second the bell rang at 2:00. She clipped only half of her hair back, let the other half fall seductively into her face a la Charlie's Angels...I tried to do that with my hair once and my mom yelled at me for that, too...sigh...There was no competing with Jackie anyway, any fool should've known that, but I was ten.

So that's got me thinking...Top five most memorable outfits of my childhood:

My first communion dress (see above)

The dress I wore to Woody's wedding, age 12:

Gunne Sax. Need I say more? They were the most beautiful dresses of that time, everyone wanted one and Margy, Muzz and I got them. (Mary Louise was in the wedding.) Margy was 16 or so, so her's was the plunging neckline variety, and mine was a high-necked number but so lacy! So pretty! It had little pearly-type buttons and I loved it. Mom and I went to Penney's to get shoes to go with it, and I picked out what I thought were pretty cool Annie Hall-type lace-ups. The day of the wedding Margy told me how unbelievably ugly they were and that they ruined the whole look, and I bawled my ass off and begged mom to take me shopping for something different. It was her first born's wedding day. She was not amused. I wore the ugly shoes.

Looking at the pictures now, there I stand in the front row in my pretty prairie dress, and on my feet are what look for all the world like orthopedic shoes. It doesn't help that I was twelve, so my feet were the only part of me that were fully grown. But the bride looks beautiful and isn't that what matters? Plus Mary Louise is sporting a full-on afro, which certainly makes my shoes seem insignificant.

My eighth grade graduation dress

It was 1983. I wore a white polished cotton dress with a short skirt, big puffed out sleeves, bright teal piping and a hugantic plastic teal belt. Shoes were white with giant bows on the toes. Variations of this look can be found in all of John Hughes' best work, and coupled with my new, "Flock of Seagulls" haircut I had it goin' on. I even snuck into the bathroom once I got to church and put on heavy teal eyeliner (courtesy of Jackie). I wore that dress way past its expiration date, too. That's one of the drawbacks of Catholic school, you're always the last to know when a look is over.

My first pair of Guess? jeans

Ninth grade. My mom said "no way" to a pair of 70 dollar jeans (I would never pay that now, mind you) so I got my first job, at the old Southdale movie theater. I quit as soon as I got the jeans, but it took 2 months to make that much money....and they were just the plain Guess jeans, not the fancy ones with leather pockets all over them. They didn't even have the ankle zippers. Some girls tried to be tricky by scratching out the label of their Palmetto jeans and passing them off as Guess...everyone always knew, though, and it was worse to get busted doing that than to just accept that you weren't cool.

And my favorite thing I ever wore in my entire life, including the sweatpants currently swaddling me in comfort:

The dress I wore on the first day of kindergarten

It was a smock-style dress covered with Winnie-the-Pooh scenes, not the obnoxious Disney drawings but the original Ernest Shepard illustrations. My mom hung it in my closet and I laid awake half the night staring at it, I could not wait to put that thing on. I wish I still had it; it's the only thing from tjhe above list that if I had it now (in the right size, of course) I'd still wear.

May 5 '06

I can't say I was sorry to see Paris go home Wednesday night; she's great, aight? I know she's great and you know she's great and she knows it too and she's gonna be jes faaaahhhhhhn without American Idol's help, and actually everyone left will be fine too. But I will cry now, no matter who leaves...except maybe Katharine, something about her bugs me, something in the "Her dress splitting open last week was no accident" category. I mean c'mon, who wears a skin tight snap-up dress? I haven't worn snaps since I graduated from my Dr. Dentons and odds are, neither have you. Unless you're a professional basketball player, in which case why are you reading this blog when you should be at shoot-around? Because you didn't make the playoffs, that's why. Burn! Gals, do any of you own a snap up dress or skirt? Of course not, because when you saw it at Marshall Fields you were like, "How silly, a snap-up dress! Surely it would pop open at an inopportune time, especially if I were as buxom as that Katharine McPhee from American Idol."

OK. Let's go over a few things that were in the news lately: First up is Zacarius M not getting the death penalty. All right, I suppose he now can't be held up as a martyr and all that, but is it wrong of me to hope the rest of his days are one big blur of ass plundering? Although I guess he'll be in solitary , but maybe they could let the particularly brutal rapists have at him every hour or so.

Little Harvard chickie pie who plagiarized everyone and their brother in her new book, "How Opal Got Her Groove Back". (That's what she wanted to call it but her brainiac publisher did, at least, catch that one.) Go on the Harvard Crimson website and compare/contrast (oh wait, there's nothing to contrast!) the many many many many many many many passages she lifted verbatim from at least three other books. This whole scandal reminds me of the time that seven-year-old tried to fly a plane across the ocean and crashed. That' s probably the worst comparison I've ever made, but it can't be helped.

Charlie Sheen/ Denise Richards/ Richie Sambora love triangle....the most shocking thing to come out of this story is the realization that Charlie Sheen has launched a children's clothing line. I can't think of a single human person from whom I would be less inclined to by children's clothes, even without the gambling/drugs/indescriminate poon chasing. Charlie Sheen making kids clothes makes about as much sense as a line of Melanie Griffith personal hygiene products.

And Mission Impossible 3 opens today. Yawn.

May 3 '06

It's 6:24 in the am.

I'm not one to be getting up this early most days...I know most of the workin' world is already up, perhaps has been for hours, even, but I don't subscribe to that kind of rat-racin'. Which, of course, explains why I'm so wildly successful and post here so often. (sarcasm alert!)

Plus I am the happy beneficiary of what is known in scholastic and parental circles as the Late Start Time, meaning my kiddies don't have to be at school until the sun is well nigh halfway 'cross the sky.

We had the early start last year, and it wasn't even really that early but dang if it wasn't too dern early for me. I hated it. What kind of sadistic school system expects me to get my ass out of bed at 7:00?! Ugh. So no, most days 9:00 will find me still in my pajamas, and that's how I like it. It's like my grandpappy used to say, before he died of a bloated colon: "Nothing good ever happened before noon."

Sometimes I think I should start getting up ealier, get my run in before sunup and get a jump on the day, and I even did it for a bit last year, but a few things occured to me while I was out there huffin' and puffin' through the dark...

A) the running path is crowded as all get out at 6 am, whereas at 9:30, it's empty, the sun is up so the view is better, and it isn't so floofin' cold out anymore.

B) I was so tired by 3:00 I had to pound another pot of coffee just to keep from crashing into a tree on my way to pick up the kids.

So I'm just gonna stick with the biorythms the good Lord in His infinite wisdom gave me. Who am I to question His plan? If He'd wanted me to get up before the sun, he'da made me a farmer. (Not quite sure where to put the apostrophe in "he'da".)

Of course the consequence I have to pay is I get a lot less done than those who worship at the alter of the almighty alarm. I've read that Danielle Steele gets up at the crack to write, (that explains a lot about her books...maybe if she weren't sleep deprived they wouldn't be so crappy) has all her work done for the day by late morning.

It's not like I'm staying up any later than anyone else, either, I'm clocking a good 9 hourIS IT MY FAULT SELECT COMFORT PUTS OUT SUCH A SUPEROR PRODUCT?

I wonder if I could sue them on the grounds that I can't tear myself away from my delicious bed and it's hindering my work performance?

But for some odd reason, today I'm up way too early; I've had insomnia all week. My girlfriend Mel told me about a book she's reading on retirement planning which got me to thinking, which is never good, as I then put whatever subject I'm thinking about into a little jar in my head that my psyche smashes open at 3 am.

I'll never be able to retire.

The calming light of day reminds me not to worry, for all intents and purposes I am already retired, and the biggest difference when I'm an old and wrinkled ward of the state (God willing, and I'll surely be doubting my chances of living that long tonight when I should be sleeping) is that I will be able to swear all I like and all the people who never visit me will simply smile and nod and say "It's so sad, what's happened to grandma...do you smell pee?" before they help themselves to my jewelry.

Has anyone been watching "Real Housewives of Orange County" On Bravo? It's on at 9 pm on Tuesdays, and I cannot tell you the joy it has brought to my life. It's the real-life adventures of 5 women and the plastic surgeons who love them who live in a gated community in Cali. There's....

Kimberley, whose many melanoma scares don't stop her from aquiring an enormous collection of slutty halter tops

Lauri, who when she isn't sleeping with the town crack addict ponders why her kids keep landing themselves in Juvi hall

Jo, engaged to far-too-old-for her prick supreme Slade Smiley (that's his name, I'm not kidding...watch him show off his American Express black card! Watch him do crunches in his underwear! Watch him humiliate his parents!)

Jeana, married to former major leaguer Matt Keogh, now spends all of her time selling high-end real estate and telling her son if he doesn't make it to the bigs he's a worthless loser

And Vicki, who fancies herself a "MILF" and is convinced every man secretely wants her.

Awright, I'm going to leave you alone now. I'm gonna go back to a Monday/Friday posting schedule, starting this Friday. See you then.

© Katie McCollow, 2006