Cat Anexoria, Oh It's Real (Updated)

"I'm one hairball away from my ideal weight!"

We've been living in Cat Hell for the last week since Latke had to be rushed to the vet and was diagnosed with a blocked urethra. Then, the vet called me at 6:00 pm on Wednesday night and said "We think Latke needs another catheter and we don't do that overnight so you need to come get him and take him to the emergency vet."

WTF?

My daughter and I spent four hours at the emergency vet Wednesday; mostly sobbing because we thought we were going to have to have Latke put to sleep because his kidney levels were four times normal and the bill to admit him was estimated at $2,000 (INCLUDING a $148 "referral fee" to the vet who made me come pick up at the last minute.)

When we had his levels tested again and they came back normal we were made to feel like White Trash for taking him home and treating him ourselves (Even though the Vet On Call kept calling him Lot-Key). But really, it's four days before Christmas and the kids are off school and if I'm weighing a little extra work required by monitoring the cat while he's locked in the laundry room vs. $2,000, the laundry room is going to win.

(Even though I really haven't slept since Wednesday)

The cat is doing all the things he should except he's really not eating, which I didn't mind until I let him out of the laundry room today and he could barely move and his paw was shivering and I Googled "cat won't eat shivering" and up popped:

Cat Anorexia

Apparently it's not like People Anexoria. After a cat has been ill, or if he is on medication (and yes, my cat has two checks in the plus column here) a cat will lose it's appetite and "forget" that it should eat and could develop hypoglycemia and die.

Great.

I already snatched this cat from the paws of the Kitty Grim Reaper once and I am NOT letting him starve himself to death. I immediately rubbed honey all over his teeth (to bring his blood sugar back up) and then opened up a can of non-prescription canned food and he dug into it like nobody's business.

(So. Very. Thankful. that I read the release papers from the vet and that I recognized Cat Anorexia as a side effect of recovering from a Blocked Urethra even if I did laugh it off at the time. Really, who would think "Oh, my cat had a blocked urethra and now it thinks it's too fat."??)

So now he's eating and his tail is twitching again and he looks a LOT more lively. In fact, he just scampered out of the kitchen! Of course, I'm still on the lookout for him forcing his paw down his throat.

P.S. At the Emergency Vet we were placed in a room - with a box of tissues placed conveniently nearby - that had a wall paper border of dogs wearing halos and angel wings. THIS is supposed to instill confidence? Also, there were several framed photographs of dogs including one in a total Glamour Shot wearing a red boa. It was creepy. Four. Solid. Hours. of sad and creepy.

So we get home on Thursday to find the cat not moving and whining and we all rush him to the emergency vet only to hear that his temperature doesn't even register and his kidneys are failing and we make the most difficult decision of 2010 and put him out of his misery. Though, it wasn't really difficult. I just can't make an innocent animal go through all that medical trauma. They don't understand it. I don't understand how he got better when his kidneys must have been failing but I like to think we gave him one last good week where he was loved and petted and appreciated.

RIP Latke.

Got A Camera You Need Bumped Off?

My daughter has yet to meet a camera she can't break. I seem to recall her dropping the first one she owned and when I finally acquiesced and bought her a new one it refused to work as well, shoving a totally black screen in her face 75% of the times she turned it on even after we sent it in and had it repaired. On Sunday she got her Christmas present early - an iPhone (don't ask, it certainly wasn't my idea) - and by this morning the camera on the phone was refusing to open.

WTH?

I think I need to google How To Remove A Voodoo Hex Involving Girls And Cameras and get this settled once and for all. Unless one of you know knows how to remove a voodoo hex involving girls and cameras. If you do, I'd appreciate step-by-step directions. You can email me.

Sorry To Be Meta But This Is About My Love/Hate Relationship With Bloggers and Blogging

As a writer, I love the idea of blogs. As a reader, there are just a few blogs I have bookmarked and read daily (I can count my regulars on one hand) because there are few non-professional writers (and probably not that many professionals, really) who can be entertaining and interesting on a daily basis. I have tried, myself, and failed. However, if you're still here, thanks.

A blogger I love to read recently offered up gift cards to the first 20 needy people and it snowballed and turned into this huge people-helping-people EVENT and I'm sure she did not budget the time for it and is wondering what the hell she got herself into but if you want to read some great writing and some inspiring stories check out her site. It's the true meaning of Christmas (at least according to semi-atheist me).

Happy Holidays!!

A Little Reminiscing (Boy I Hope I Spelled That Right) About Giving Birth (So, You Know, You Might Want To Opt Out Now)

I was just reading a blog post by one of my favorite bloggers. She is such a good blogger that she (I assume) gets paid to write a Bad Parenting Advice Column (hmmm...the column isn't bad, the advice is bad....ish) and, really, isn't that the goal of everyone who has ever given birth? I Am So Bad At This That Someone Should Pay Me To Write A Column About It. And, while I secretly suspect that I might be a halfway decent mom, I was NOT good at giving birth.

So. If you're still with me....

We signed up for Birthing Classes with the first pregnancy. We showed up with a pillow like the syllabus and Every Hollywood Movie demanded but it seemed kinda stupid and unnecessary. I was fine (if a little bored) during all the classes (including the Horrible Birth Videos) until the Instructor pulled out the plastic pelvic bones and the actual-sized baby and showed us how the baby BARELY FIT getting through the bones and how it took A LOT of twisting and turning and they really shouldn't show that to people AT ALL. And, the night before my due date (which I know is not Scientifically Accurate but I clung to because it fell on Father's Day) my water broke (at 11:30 pm) and I had to call my doctor and sheepishly admit that I didn't know what to do because I had not paid attention during that part of class. Really, it was kind of like I was back at college. And I did not feel stupid AT ALL when he replied "Um ..... GO TO THE HOSPITAL!"

If you're a clicker then you know the column I'm referring to was about birthing plans and I would just like to say that I DID have a plan and that plan involved as many drugs as the hospital would allow me to have. I am pleased to announce that I pulled it off. However, if you're anything like me, even if you pull off your plan you will find yourself standing over your baby when she is about three weeks old watching to make sure she is still breathing because somehow you'll start to believe that all those drugs you had might not have been good for her and there may be a few moments - here and there - in her young life when you are SURE that you damaged her brain when you insisted that they TURN THAT EPIDURAL UP DAMMIT but, let me tell you, that when she is 15 and getting straight A's and on the Honor Roll and turning into a Lovely Young Woman you will TOTALLY know that you did the right thing. For both of you.

Dear Internet Marketing Professionals at Borders:

I don't want to tell you how to do your job or anything but I just received a coupon for 33% off one item through December 2 so unless that coupon also includes a trip back in time there really was no need to send it to me.

Love,

Stacey

Playing in the Spam Box

I'm thinking of just moving into my Spam Box and living there for the rest of eternity. There are several displaced Royals that need me to help them move their money to a safe location and they are willing to pay me handsomely for my time and trouble, and I've been selected to receive a $5,000 U.S. Dollar Home Depot Gift Card! I know, right? People, I am rich in my Spam Box. And if I feel guilty for just taking money, there is a guaranteed 2% non -collateral loan available and shocking (SHOCKING!) work at home opportunities!

And there are plenty of ways to spend all this new-found wealth: 95% savings on brand name electronics, a printer ink sale, AND a pre-paid Visa Rushcard by Russell Simmons (Really?). Though, first, I should probably do that pesky account maintenance on the Chase account that I don't have and take a look at some of the photos of the "other" singles in my area so I have someone to take to dinner when I use my free Olive Garden gift card. Bottomless salad and bread sticks for everyone!!

Texts From The Future and Apparently I'm Not A "Normal" Parent

My daughter has a text from the future saved on her phone. It is from the year 2019 and the phone number has a semicolon in it ("There'll be so many phone numbers by then that they'll NEED semicolons!"). Today her friend also received a text from the future; the phone number didn't have a semi-colon and when he dialed it, it was a land-line. Of course, land-lines will probably be obsolete in 2019, but who am I to dispel beliefs?

Maybe a normal parent would point this out. I am apparently NOT a normal parent because I do things like A) contribute to an advice column on the U by Kotex website, B) take skating lessons, C) teach writer's workshops to 4th graders, and D) participate in dance competitions even though I "don't have a background in dance."

So, my question is: what do normal parents do? When I was growing up my mom was a painter and my dad played the clarinet, listened to opera on Sunday afternoons, and did magic tricks at the dinner table so I don't think I really have a reference point. And, is it bad that I'm not a normal parent? Am I raising children that have no concept of reality, or am I simply raising children who will be non-normal parents as well? And, really, if raising "non-normal parents" is the worst parenting I do then I will consider myself a success but now I have to stop typing because I am really sore from the dancing and the skating.

Good night.

Litter Boxes

We have two cats and two litter boxes and I noticed the other day that both cats use one box as a urinal and the other as a ... non-urinal and how the heck did that happen? Is that a natural thing cats do? Was there a conversation about it? What about an accident? "Dude, what are you doing? That's the urinal!"

And for years my husband has wondered what the cats do when they roam around outside so I'm wondering if I should get him this for Christmas - or is it really a present for the cats?

It's November 14

And I haven't posted a thing since November 1 which I'm really disgusted with especially since THINGS have happened like A) I started an adult skating class and fell the first day and bruised my knee and B) discovered Vibrams and started running again and now my calves are killing me but my lower back ISN'T and C) my daughter finally finished the high school musical which is not THE High School Musical but took nearly as much time to put on (I exaggerate) and D) made my son go running with me and MY GOD THE WHINING and E) foolishly bought a bag of Mint M&M's because they only come out for Christmas and I realize that there are MANY weeks until Christmas but I couldn't resist because, come ON it's M&M's and MINT and, really, I'm SO glad for the running and the skating and the dancing (oh, did I mention that the dancing started up again for another competition on Dec. 3 and I got the video from the last competition and it certainly FELT like I was spinning a LOT faster than that?) because I CAN'T STOP eating those damn mint M&M's and I'm just HOPING that I don't run across the Christmas Cadbury Mini Eggs that my sister and pregnant niece insist exist (really, like Santa Claus?) because as soon as Christmas is done they fill the stores with the Easter Mini Eggs and that means I won't be able to shop until May.

So. Hey. How are you?

(Ok, while I'm here, I am NOT HAPPY with the Mint M&M package that says "What's Inside? 210 Calories" then "(per serving)" in the smallest possible font. That is one big tease, M&M's, and yes, I almost fell for it but I am not happy AT ALL about the subterfuge. NOT AT ALL!)

(And I forgot to mention that my daughter SAT ON HER CAT and bruised it's tail which led to her sobbing every time the cat meowed and the cat meowing whenever someone touched it's butt/tail and HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHEN YOU HAVE SAT ON YOUR CAT?)

Unwanted Halloween Guests

I took this picture to remind myself to carve the pumpkins at the last possible minute for Halloween 2011. I carved the pumpkins on Saturday and when I went to light the candles on Sunday evening the ants were setting up for their Halloween dinner party and just waiting for the ambient candle light before they started eating. Or maybe they weren't waiting. I have no idea what they were doing in the pumpkins only that the pumpkins were on the porch and that means the ants were on the porch which is very close to the front door and I'm hoping the close-to-freezing overnight temps this week kill them because even though they are tiny I don't want them in the house.

They're probably already in the house, aren't they?

Dinner Table Conversation

Daughter: Guess who was on Gossip Girl last night?

Son: Betty White!!?!!


(I think this brief conversation tells you all you need to know about my (lack of) parenting skills. My 15-year old daughter was thrilled that Tim Gunn was on Gossip Girl and my 9-year old son knew that Betty White has been on everything lately and would be a good punchline.)

A Minority of Me

I'm sure you can count on one hand the number of people who have received in the same mail delivery 1) a congratulatory note from their dance partner and 2) a 5-page letter from a prisoner they attended Jr. High with.

(Yeah, I'm not happy with the last sentence either, but I've been sitting her rewriting it for 10 minutes and can't get it to work any other way so I'm just going to leave it because it says exactly what I was trying to say even if it's not doing it very gracefully or correctly. Sometimes it's hard to make grammar behave. It's like my son, who made his bed this morning but managed to put the comforter on sideways. Yes, the comforter is technically on the bed but he knows it's not right and I know it's not right and I'm sure the comforter knows it's not right. And speaking of not right, my husband wasn't thrilled with the prisoner letter even after I told him that the guy remembered me from Jr. High because (apparently) I was a really nice girl back then and I guess I shouldn't have expected my husband to believe it because I don't keep this house running by being a nice girl but if someone from his past popped up and said they remembered him because he was really helpful and kind I would at least call his parents to confirm before I started acting all surprised and saying things like "Are you sure he doesn't have you confused with someone else?")

Bitter Cold

When it came down to it: I really wanted a trophy.

I know the whole thing was supposed to be about charity (and Successfully Single did raise a LOT of money for Habitat for Humanity. The event was sold out and the voting alone raised about $1100!) and having fun and I did meet a lot of really nice people and did something I never in my life thought I would ever do (dance in front of 800 people? I don't THINK so) but in the end, after I had worked so hard and made more than a few people believe I was really a dancer I just wanted to go home with a trophy so I'd have something to show for all my hard work and I KNOW that is the wrong attitude and I would NEVER EVER let my kids feel bad and bitter about not getting a trophy after learning a new skill and pushing themselves beyond what they thought they were capable of and having such a great time and finding out (again!) what great friends and family they have and I am embarrassed and ashamed that I feel that way at all and also have a horrible, horrible cold which I'm sure was totally caused by my bad attitude and I deserve to be all stuffed up and headachy and phlegmy and hoarse and yes I would do it all again even if I knew the result would be the same but....

I really wanted the trophy.

I'm so shallow.

It's D-Day (D is for Dance)

I know I've been writing a lot about dancing lately because, yes, it has taken over my life and the competition is tonight and I don't know if I'm supposed to show up wearing my dress or get ready there and whether or not the heel cover on my niece's dance shoe that I danced right off will hold tonight after I had to E600 that sucker back on and I hope it doesn't go flying off and hit someone in the eye or something though I guess I'll know after my last practice today that I wasn't going to have but when we showed up for our couple's dance lesson on Wednesday night my husband asked Tino (my partner) if I was ready and Tino said "No!" and Husband was all "She's not scheduled to practice on Friday! She needs to practice on Friday or she's going to forget everything!" and I said "Fine!" and gave Tino a dirty look for throwing me under the bus and scheduled one last practice for today, but Husband is right, I probably would have forgotten the whole routine by tonight so it's probably a good thing but my back is killing me (thought that's probably because I decided to try running again the other day which might not have been the best idea since I am out of pain pills and refuse to schedule an appointment to see my doctor because his office is right in the middle of all the construction on Telegraph and I'll have to add another 45 minutes just to get in and out of the parking lot) and are you exhausted yet? WELCOME TO MY WORLD!

Save The Last Dance (Lesson)

Today was my next-to-last dance lesson which means tomorrow is the last one and then it's Friday and I'm in a blinged-up, tight dress shaking it in front of nearly 800 people.

I know all I have to do is sell it but I'm not sure I can pull off looking confident while counting 1-2-34 in my head and trying to remember to put all the weight on my back leg and what my arms are supposed to do and when I bodyroll start with my head and point my toes and oh yeah SMILE!

I Admit I'm Not An Artist

I felt the need to do something creative yesterday after decorating the house for Halloween so I found a blank canvas and painted a picture of a witch. I've never been incredibly artistic but I figured that something colorful and kitschy wouldn't be too embarrassing but apparently I was wrong because this morning my husband said "Nice of your niece to paint us a picture." My niece is 9 and is probably a better artist than I am and I never claimed to be talented but, really, that was a little hurtful and now I'm thinking of painting all kinds of bad Halloween pictures and filling up the house with them and then maybe I'll move on Thanksgiving and then Christmas and then I'm sure I can come up with all kinds of misshapen hearts for Valentine's Day and maybe that will teach him not to make fun of my bad art.

Or maybe it will just teach me to stop trying to paint.

Sorry Your Agent Is A Loser

Regardless of how I feel about the offer on my house that was 22% below asking price, I feel sorry for the couple who obviously want to move into my sub but find themselves saddled with a real estate agent who has labeled himself "an expert" on my sub and, yet, has lost this family three different houses in the sub.

To said agent: I'm sure you think you are doing your homework but a house the same size as mine on a main road 6 miles north in a different school district is not really a "comp." You're welcome.

Selling Our House Is Going To Leave Us Broke

That title doesn't even make sense, does it? That's how exhausted I am from cleaning and hiding crap and yelling at everyone to Clean up the cat food! and Close the toilet lids! And yes, we've already been through the "THAT's going to sell the house" arguments. Still. It's only polite to close the toilet lid. And make sure the cat food is cleaned up and there's no food just lying in the sink which tends to happen a lot in this house because apparently I am the ONLY person who knows how to rinse things down the sink and use the disposal.

I've lost track of how many showings we've had already. I do know that we've been forced to eat out three times now and I'm wondering if we're going to go broke from eating in restaurants before we even get this house sold. Not that restaurants don't need and deserve our business, but we're usually not an Eating Out Every Night type of family and, besides the cost, today I ate half a Margarita Pizza and a slice of apple pie (OK, and a glass of wine) and, sure, we might sell this house but not before I put on 20 lbs.

I've also bought two Mega Millions tickets because the ONE house I've found that I would be happy moving into is out of our reach financially and I foolishly thought that Fate wanted us to have the house and would, therefore, provide the means to pay for it via some sort of Lottery windfall but now I'm wondering if it's just Kate and not Fate that wants us to have that house and while Kate wants us to have it Kate doesn't really have the means to make sure it happens; she's just a really nice girl who wants everyone to get everything they want and to be happy. Thanks Kate. Now I'm sure to be disappointed. You have failed.

Today's Obsession

Isn't it a mother's job to reassure her children, when they are sick, that they will recover and be just fine? Especially when they are little and their memories are so short that every illness seems like they've had it forever and they will always feel this way. (Sidebar: My daughter had the flu when she was 5 and felt horrible and said "Why did I have to get this? Why can't someone else get it instead of me?" and I said "You mean like me, or Daddy, or Grandma?" and she thought for a minute then said "Then I wish a bad guy would get it." which, if you think about it, would be a great crime deterrent. If our kids could just wish their ailments onto someone who is contemplating committing a crime it would solve a lot of problems because I imagine it's pretty hard to rob a bank or a liquor store when you have to stop and puke every few minutes.)

I'm pretty sure the mother in Macomb County who told her son that he was dying of leukemia has some mental illness of her own to deal with because I can't imagine being able to tell my child that he was dying even if he really was and now this poor kid has experienced the worst kind of betrayal because no matter what anyone says there will always be a part of him that believes his mother wanted him to die because she said he was.

I can't get this kid out of my mind. I want to find him and hold him and tell him that, even though I'm sure he feels like he can't trust anyone, that there are people who love him and want the best for him and wish they'd done a better job of protecting him against the one person he should have never needed protection against.

If You Don't Like Reading About Other People's Dreams Just Stop Right Now And Come Back Later

When I went to my job at the television station (because this was a dream I was not working at the television station that I currently fill in at and I don't recall exactly which television station it was, it's all getting a little hazy - thankfully) only to discover that FOUR of my ex-boyfriends had started working there and every time I ran into one it went exactly the same:

Old Boyfriend #Whatever: Hi Stacey, good to see you again! How are you?

Dream Me: Really, I'm a little freaked out. I just found out that four of my old boyfriends are working here now.

Old Boyfriend #Whatever: Really. Who else?

Then Dream Me would name a name and the Old Boyfriend that I was talking to would say "You dated him?! I know him!" and it turns out they all knew each other and none of them could believe that I'd dated the others and it was getting really uncomfortable and then one of them tried to kiss me and another one walked in and, really, at that point I just wanted to get to work.

According to my Amateur Dream Analysis my past is coming back to haunt me, but I think I could use some professional help here. Anyone?

Now It's Really For Sale

My house has been For Sale By Owner (FSBO, in the biz) for a month now and we finally broke down and signed with an agent/agency and now there's a lock box on my door and tomorrow there will be a big strong sign in the yard (as compared to my flimsy hardware store sign which ends up doing back bends with all this strong wind) and soon some professionally printed brochures will be sitting in my foyer and, yes, I know it is just a house but my friend Don totally designed the mantel over the family fireplace (OK, I own those pieces and I'm taking it with me) but he also built the darling shelves in my kids' rooms which hold their trophies and photos and collectibles and I nearly put my back out 4 years ago painting my bedroom Caribbean Blue and trying to move the armoire back into place by myself while my husband was out of town and I pulled a While You Were Out and emptied the office and rented a sander to redo the floor and totally refinished the office and filled it with new furniture and all of the awesome sports photos and collectibles we own during another weekend when he was gone and, yes again, a new house is going to be fun and exciting but I'm a little nostalgic right now and how do you translate into dollars all the sweat and time and dreams you have put into a house because that's what it comes down to - dollars.

The Tin Man Tries To Dance

I've never been one of those girls with a sexy walk or way of moving or even, if I'm totally honest, a sexy way of doing anything. You know how some girls look sexy just standing around breathing? Somehow that gene passed me by. And I've not done anything in my life so far that has forced me to take on a sexier persona - I managed to land a husband and have a couple kids by being cute, funny, and little bit bossy. So, now that I'm taking dancing lessons I'm being forced to confront my lack of sexiness. Today, for a good 20 minutes I was practically date-raping a pole at the dance studio trying to learn how to manipulate my body in a sexier manner. And my partner had to bring out Anastasia, The Queen of Wiggling, to show me how to do a move that most 4-year olds know how to do these days thanks to Dancing With The Stars and Miley Cyrus.

Is there a pill I can take? A manual I can read? Somehow there has to be a way for me to learn how to do what 90% of the female population inherently knows. Or maybe I should just give up and buy a Tin Man costume to dance in because THAT's what I'm going to look like anyway.

Blogs On Hold

I fell in love with a house I can't afford and can't stop obsessing about fabulous it would be to live there and how it is everything I want in a house - location, size, layout, kitchen, bedrooms, curving staircase to library (and I didn't even KNOW I wanted a curving staircase to library until I saw this!) which has led to me obsessing about new ways to make money (clarification: New Ways To Make Money With My Limited Skills - I mean I have some skills but they're not your everyday get-out-there-and-crunch-some-numbers-type skills or invent-SillyBandz-type skills (and I really wish I had invented SillyBandz, don't you?)) which leads me to my New Business Venture...

Blogs On Hold

For a Price To Be Named Later I will write a witty blog about your company and read it in an entertaining manner for your customers to listen to while they are on hold.

Brilliant, right?

I'm just going to sit back and wait for the phone to ring. (And, yes, this job will be using all the skills I have at once.)

OK, back to obsessing.

Dancing with the Inflexible

God Bless Evan at Fred Astaire Dance Studio in Bloomfield Hills who, for some reason, believes that there is a Tiny Dancer in me fighting to get out. Somehow I am competing in two Dancing with the Local Stars-type competitions this fall and Evan has partnered me with Tino, the Best Dancer In The Whole Wide World (no, really, Google it, he's got about a million national titles) who I think will manage to manipulate me around the floor in some version of The Hustle that won't look too bad as long as I can remember where my feet go. Poor Tino. I told him my daughter is a figure skater and why he thought that mean that I have any skills I don't know but I assured him that there are no splits or back handsprings in my repertoire and he managed to look only mildly disappointed but did change our music from something funky and sexy by the Pussycat Dolls to Walk This Way by Aerosmith and Run DMC so I imagine I will be doing less dancing and more stomping around and gesturing like the World's Clumsiest And Unflamboyant Drag Queen.

Or Kate Gosselin. Whichever mental image works for you.

Zombie vs. Vampire

"Mom, would you rather be bitten by a zombie or a vampire?"

"Would being bit by a zombie turn me into a zombie?"

"Duh!"

"Oh, then vampire."

"Yeah. Plus, being bit by a zombie just makes you ugly."

An Open Letter To A Bad Day

Dear Tiny Little Irritations:

I realize that you are tiny and by yourself you are meaningless and THAT is why you feel the need to show up in gangs and I know it's easy to act all big and tough when there are lots of you but let me tell you that I am in NO MOOD to deal with any of you today (although one of you did almost make me cry; note how I said almost because I refuse to give you the satisfaction) and I will slowly and methodically stomp you out like the bugs that you are.

It may not be today, it may not even be tomorrow, but consider yourself warned that I will be through with all of you by the end of the week (or, at the very least, the end of the month). ALL OF YOU!

Love and Kisses,

Stacey

Annoying, But Not Worth Dying Over

I know, I know. I shouldn't have honked at the guy who ran the stop sign and forced me to hit the brakes. Especially since I ended up behind him and happened to turn left down the same street so he decided to stop and get out of his car and perhaps confront me about why I was following him except I wasn't following him I was just trying to get to Meijer and I wouldn't have been behind him in the first place if he hadn't run the frickin' stop sign. So I drove right by him and his reflective crossing-guard vest, and why was he wearing a reflective crossing-guard vest at 1 pm anyway? Perhaps he just stopped to get out of his car and explain to me that he ran the stop sign because crossing guards don't have to follow the traffic rules like mere mortals do.

Guess I'll never know.

A Few Notes From Last Night's Aerosmith Concert

I was putting my sunglasses in the glove box in my husband's car and noticed that his glove box only contains Happy Meal toys and bubble gum. It's like his car is owned by a 10-year old.

When the concert was about to start Hubby said "It might get loud. Do you need earplugs?" Loud? Really? I've been on a bus full of 2nd graders on a field trip to the Detroit Science Center. Aerosmith didn't even come close.

There was a family in the row in front of us and at one point the mother leaned over to the daughter - who was sitting - to apparently ask her if she was OK or having fun or needed a drink or whatever. I'm only guessing, but perhaps the 12-year old girl was made uncomfortable by her plaid-shorts-wearing dad singing Rag Doll at the top of his lungs.

"Hot tramp, Daddy's little cutie
So fine, they'll never see ya
Leavin' by the back door, man
Hot time, get it while it's easy
Don't mind, come on up and see me
Rag Doll, baby won't you do me, baby won't you do me, baby won't you do me...
Like you done before"

Nice.

And, last but not least, are Joe Perry and Dermot Mulroney related?

Now What?

I'm officially dubbing this Limbo Week.

The kids are all registered for school. I have purchased the school supplies. We've taken all the appropriate vacations and have a day of outlet shopping planned for tomorrow. I feel like summer's over but it's not really over and I don't know what to do with myself.

I guess I could sell my house.

Anybody wanna buy a house?

Hi, This Is Emily. Would You Like A Smaller Room?

Our first night in Chicago was spent listening to the party in the room next door. All. Night. Long. At 4:30 in the morning I had finally had enough and tried to call the front desk, but neither of the phones in our room were working. I threw on my sweater and ventured into the hall where (luckily) I found a phone on the wall and called downstairs. We heard security knock on their door, then the party continued. At 5 a.m. my husband called downstairs. Again. The guys in the room left shortly after.

"I really thought things would quiet down after the guys left," my husband said the next day.

"Are you kidding? They needed to TALK about the guys for an hour after they left," I said.

And they did. Loudly.

Before we left on our adventures that morning we told the front desk about our dismay with the neighbors and the phones ("The phones were probably just on Off," the guy at the desk told me. "That's really not helpful at 4:30 a.m.," I said). The Guy At The Desk was less then helpful. Our option was to leave all our luggage with the bellhop and they would try to find us a new room when someone checked out. So we packed up and headed out for the day. When we straggled back at 3 pm, too exhausted to continue sightseeing, we were sent up to a room that was significantly smaller than the one we had left. It felt like we were being punished for having loud neighbors. I went back down to explain our predicament and ask for a larger room, went back upstairs with two new keys and skipped into the room singing "Who's the best mom in the world?" We grabbed our luggage and headed up four floors to a room that was even. smaller. yet.

Now, we've done quite a bit of traveling this summer, a little more than our norm. Every other hotel we've stayed at has OUTDONE itself with hospitality. When we checked in in New York the young woman asked if we were celebrating anything then sent up champagne and chocolate strawberries for our Anniversary. When we arrived in Las Vegas our reserved room wasn't ready so the next day we were moved into a corner room that was so big our closet had its own room!!

But, apparently, in Chicago they don't feel the need to be hospitable. Or helpful. Or even sympathetic. Were we offered a complimentary breakfast for our suffering? Did they send up a bottle of wine to ease our frazzled nerves? No. In Chicago you're on your own. If the neighbors keep you up all night, too bad for you. You're not a guest, you're an inconvenience. I did call down and complain. And we switched rooms yet again. For those of you that are keeping track, that's 4.

Brains

Have you noticed the plethora of Heal-Your-Brain-Because-It-Controls-Everything books that have come out lately? There's Change Your Brain Change Your Body (which I get sucked into whenever I pass by PBS and that guy is on there because he is so skinny that I worry about him having the strength to finish his talk; he always seems on the verge of an asthma attack to me), Change Your Brain Change Your Life (same skinny author), The Brain Power Cookbook (really?), This Is Your Brain On Joy (it does NOT look like scrambled eggs), Change Your Mind Change Your Body (changing your mind sounds much easier than changing your brain, no?), The Brain That Changes Itself (kinda like the ultimate baby!), Buddha's Brain (think I'll wait for the movie), and Train Your Mind Change Your Brain (so. very. confused.) just to name a few and I'm starting to believe that my brain does control more than I think because I am physically and emotionally exhausted (even my foot is asleep!) yet my brain is refusing to let me fall asleep and where the hell on Amazon.com is Change Your Brain And Get a Good Night's Rest?

THAT Old

I'm doing major cleaning of the house today, which means I left the house in the exact condition that every What-Not-To-Wear-French-Girls-Don't-Wear-Gym-Shorts-Book-And/Or-Reality-Show tells you not to: ponytail, baseball cap, no makeup, bad t-shirt, shorts, Ugg sandals. Oh, I was quite a sight. My groceries from Market Fresh included a bottle of wine because, really, all this cleaning makes me the kind of cranky that only wine can undo, and the lovely young woman checking me out rang up the bottle of wine, then rang up a few more items, then paused, then asked to see my ID. In the condition I was in I was happy to hand it over. (I really should keep an over-sized-donation-to-a-charity-check copy of my driver's license in my car for just such situations because I am a LONG way from needing to be carded.) "Aren't you nice!" I said. "Well..." she shrugged.

Then she gasped.

It was an actual, audible gasp.

"You don't look THAT old!"

"Oh, thanks," I said.

"No, really," she went on. "I never would have guessed you were even close to THAT old!"

Honey, you made me feel so good that I'm going to forgive your many "THAT olds." I'm sure the number seems frightening to you but let me warn you that it was just yesterday that I was in my 20's and feeling invincible and pretty darn sure that I would never be THAT old. Your time is a-coming.

Faster than you think.

Texting While Working

Did City of Detroit employees learn NOTHING from Kwame Kilpatrick?

Apparently Interim Detroit Police Chief Ralph Godbee had a relationship with ousted Chief Warren Evans' girlfriend (I know, you practically need a program to keep all the players straight) and Evans' attorney turned over text messages from Godbee to Girlfriend in an effort to help Evans get his job back. These text messages were supposedly from last fall (and also - from what I can gather - on Godbee's personal cell phone so Girlfriend must have turned them over which leads to a whole OTHER set of questions like "Why did she save them?" and "Why was she dating two different superiors?" and leads me to wonder if she's actually the smartest or dumbest person in this whole situation) which was WELL after the Kwame-texting debacle and wouldn't you think that a smart guy would say to himself "You know, maybe I shouldn't be texting his kind of mush to a co-worker, no matter how much I like her."

A Love Letter to Rob Reiner (And Why You Should See Flipped)

Last year my son nailed his first-ever movie audition. According to the Casting Director (I was not allowed in for the meeting) he made Rob Reiner laugh and Rob (may I call you Rob?) said "You've got the part!" and our summer then revolved around one line in a flashback scene which was minuscule in the overall movie but huge for an 8-year old boy.

I got the opportunity to work as an extra as a teacher and spent eight days on the set surrounded by middle-school kids and got to watch Rob Reiner work. Not that I've spent a lot of time on movie sets, but it was obvious that he's an easy-going director. He knew exactly what he wanted. He was great with the kids. He was friendly. He was serious, but didn't take it too seriously (if that makes sense). And this is how nice he is: he picked me out of the teachers for a classroom scene and when we were walking back in after a costume change he asked me if I was on camera in the last shot. "I'm just here to do what I'm told," I said. (Yes, I'm completely eloquent under pressure). "You were. You were on camera," he said. When he walked away the Assistant Director came running over and asked me what Rob said to me. I told him and he said "No, you weren't on camera." Oh well. (But I was!)

When we heard the movie would be premiering at the Heartland Film Festival (after winning Truly Moving Picture of the Year) the kids and I headed to Indianapolis to attend. We weren't even sure my son didn't end up on the cutting room floor (he didn't!). When the movie was over my son said the only thing he wanted was to say hi to Rob and get a picture with him (he even turned down a brownie). We pushed our way through the crowd; of course everyone wanted to meet Rob Reiner. My son wiggled his way close to him and said "Excuse me. Do you remember me?" Now, I don't know if he really did or not but Rob looked at my son and said "Yes, I do. Did you enjoy yourself?" then grabbed him for a photo.

Thank you, Rob Reiner. First, for giving my son his first opportunity and second, for being such a great guy one year later. You've given my son the two best summers of his life.

Now, everybody, go see Flipped. And make your kids go see it. Know why? Because there's a story. No special effects, makeover montages, or unrealistic chase scenes, just a charming story (and some darn fine acting) about two kids actually thinking about things and becoming better people.

And watch for the Teasing Boy in the cafeteria.

The Tooth Fairy *NOT FOR CHILDREN*

My 9 1/2-year old son lost his first molar last night so we had to talk about the Tooth Fairy.

"It's you, right?"

"What do you think?" I said. I hate to just blow up beliefs. My husband, on the other hand, was dying to tell our kids there was no Santa Claus from the time they were four.

"I think it's you. I mean, what would the Tooth Fairy do with all those teeth?"

"It is me."

"So, what do YOU do with all those teeth?"

Cut to this morning: I had put his tooth in a plastic baggie prior to the Tooth Fairy discussion in case he still believed and wanted to put it under his pillow. (Note to young parents: I've learned that putting the tooth in a baggie makes it MUCH easier to find in the middle of the night when you're digging around under your kid's pillow in the dark trying not to wake them up.) He came down this morning holding the baggie-with-tooth aloft.

"Aha! Look what I found!"

"I'm sorry," I said. "Do you want a dollar?"

"No," he said. "I'll just wait for tonight."

He's putting it BACK under his pillow tonight! He knows there's no Tooth Fairy. He knows that I'm going to sneak in in the middle of the night and fish around for the baggie and leave him a dollar and, apparently, that's the way he likes it. He is the King of Suspended Disbelief.

Sometimes I wish I had someone to explain my own son to me.

Curse You Cindy Crawford and Art Van!

My husband and I went shopping last night for some chairs for our family room and living room. We live with two semi-destructive cats and one of the chairs needing replacement is older than our relationship.

We ended up at Art Van. We've gotten pretty lucky there over the past few years. And, sure enough, we came across a really comfortable brown leather chair and a patterned fabric chair that went along with it. The leather felt great and the chairs were everything we wanted; not too big, no floppy cushions, veeeery comfortable, go with our decor. We looked at everything else in the store because we didn't want to marry the first chairs we met but ended up back at the original chairs ready to pull out the credit card and then I looked at the tag.

They are Cindy Crawford chairs.

I'm mortified.

I don't buy into celebrities "designing" clothes or furniture or whatever, or slapping their name on something so it will sell better. It bugs me. I don't want to wear Jessica Simpson shoes or Daisy Fuentes jeans (though I WILL wear a Betty White hoody because IT'S BETTY WHITE!). Plus, when my husband and I started dating he had a Cindy Crawford calendar hanging in his room and I remember saying to him "If you expect me to sit in here and eat jelly beans with you then the calendar must come down." Yet here's Cindy, back in our life. Supporting my husband's tush while he reads. I don't think I like it.

But, damn her, the chairs are SO comfortable. I put up a fight for a while but in the end we bought the chairs and they are being delivered next week. So, come on over and sit on my Cindy Crawford chairs. Tell me how comfortable and pretty they are. I'll still be embarrassed.

PS - If you find yourself in need of Supermodel Furniture head to Art Van in Royal Oak and ask for Ray. I liked him so much I plan to see him for all my Supermodel Furniture needs : )

PPS - Yes, kids. When my husband and I were dating and were alone in his room we ate jellybeans. That is all we did. That is all anyone should do. Until they're married.

Why Are All Realtors Named Nancy?

The last time we went house hunting our realtor was named Nancy. We are now dipping our toes in the house search pool again and found a house we'd like to check out and the realtor listing the house is named .... Nancy. We talked to Nancy the 2nd who is out of town but promised to have an associate call us who is named ... Nancy.

What's up with this? Was Nancy just a ridiculously popular name from that generation or are all women named Nancy immediately told to pursue real estate when they take the Possible Careers Quiz in high school? And if that's true, then is it possible that the people putting out these Find Your Best Career worksheets aren't really taking our interests and skills into consideration but merely lumping us into categories alphabetically? And why am I going straight to a conspiracy theory?

I should be making a video instead of writing a blog post about making a video

Ever since it was announced I have had every intention of making a video to submit to the Oprah Your Own Show contest and I even started making it on several occasions (the first time = bad lighting, the second time = cheesy idea, the third time = audio gave out on the video camera, so of course now I'm starting to wonder if the Universe doesn't WANT me to enter the contest because if I get chosen to be on the reality show portion I'd have to live away from my family for 6 weeks or something and just today my family told me how GLAD they are that I'm not doing morning radio anymore because they like having me home although I suspect it's only because that means there is someone to drive them all somewhere and not because they really like me or having me around) but the deadline is in TWO DAYS and I keep putting it off (although we have been REALLY BUSY with all the swimming, golf, skating, and lacrosse my kids have been doing) and now I just don't know. One part of me WANTS to make the video because, you never know, someone could see it and offer me a fabulous job and if I don't do it that will never happen but on the other hand I'm not living in a sitcom or a RomCom and those things rarely happen in real life except I keep thinking that sometimes they do because what else are all these sitcoms and RomComs based on?

How NOT To Raise A Future Mayor

This is certainly not intended to be a defense of Kwame Kilpatrick, but I'm wondering how a man who was raised by public servants (and those who work for them) ever got the idea that HE was the charitable cause that funds from a Civic Fund should support.

Sure, apples occasionally do end up a far distance from the tree. And if that's the case, I wouldn't mind seeing an honest quote from the tree. Why isn't his mother saying "I don't know why he is being accused of this behavior, this is NOT how we raised him and I find it difficult to believe that he would be capable of this."?

But I doubt we will ever hear anything like this from the woman who purportedly told her son he "was chosen" to be Mayor.

Yes, I'm being tough on her, but raising children is a big responsibility. Raising responsible citizens is tough enough but purposely letting your child believe that he is destined for public service and letting him believe that role is an entitlement and not a responsibility is just.....wrong.

Yes, I know. My children aren't out there in the world yet. I've yet to see if the lessons I think I'm teaching them stick. I'd like to think that they will. And I'd like to think that if they don't, I'll take responsibility for not doing my parental duty and come clean about it.

Feel free to check back with me in 10-15 years.

Why Isn't My Son Tired?

Sure, he's 9 1/2. But he's also the kid who prefers to spend the majority of each day lying down watching cartoons or playing video games. Usually when I try to cajole him into physical activity his skinny little legs dramatically fold beneath him like a foal that has just been birthed and he claims he is just. too. tired.

Today I took him to swimming, then brought him home to feed him and change his clothes and took him to golf, then brought him home to feed him and change his clothes and took him to lacrosse, then picked him up and had him change clothes in the back of the car and took him to an audition.

Why isn't he tired? I'M exhausted! Not only does he seem totally unfazed, he seems...energized. Should I have been over scheduling him all along?

I am so confused.

It is nearly impossible to cancel Comcast

This week we switched from Comcast, which we've had for.e.ver to AT&T UVerse and the day that we switched it was like having a new computer because the thing that had been working like a TR186 (or some other kind of slow computer that doesn't exist anymore) was working like it was on SPEED or something.

But now the computer is acting like it's old, tired self and I'm suspicious that UVerse somehow managed to bribe or bully my computer into acting better and faster than it really is for a day simply to convince me that I had made the right decision and this makes me really worried because now UVerse is IN MY HOUSE and if it has those kinds of powers then I fear for the safety of my children and pets (and my husband because he will NEVER believe that UVerse is trying to control us no matter how much evidence I have).

Comcast is pretty powerful itself in that it is nearly impossible to cancel. I have been the one calling Comcast for our entire married life (17 years this July 3 thankyouverymuch) and even though the bill is in my husband's name I have successfully added and deleted channels and scheduled service and maintenance but when I called to cancel I was told I DID NOT HAVE THE AUTHORITY because I am not my husband.

I said, "Listen, I AM the authority of my husband. I have his social security number, I doubt he even remembers it anymore." But the Comcast Woman refused to cancel our service so I told my husband that he had to call and cancel and he called from his work phone and they COULDN'T EVEN FIND HIM IN THE SYSTEM.

Also, when I called, I was told that I would have to return all our many Comcast gadgets myself to an entirely inconvenient location (with rumors of an hour or more in line). Like I have time for that. My husband called again to cancel - this time from our house phone so they could track us (which also makes me worried - of course - because we didn't have Comcast service at the time!) - and now they are picking up our equipment and THANK YOU to whatever understanding and sane Comcast employee he finally got on the phone but really, hon, you are in a minority and you might want to consider switching to UVerse too.

Just a thought.

Fun With Bacon

I've been vegan for over a year now. I chose veganism over taking cholesterol meds every day for the rest of my life and 99.9% of the time I don't regret that decision at all.

But I really want to go to Camp Bacon.

First, I respect the sheer genius of holding a cooking class that centers around bacon and calling it Camp Bacon. I hope whoever came up with that name got a BIG promotion and a nice tropical vacation. Second, every meal at Camp Bacon includes.....wait for it.....bacon. In fact, lunch is a BLT bar. A. B. L. T. Bar. You could feasibly forgo the L. and the T. and just eat the B. You wouldn't have to bother with the bread if you didn't want to! Third, the shirt.

I just ordered one! I love the irony of a vegan wearing a Camp Bacon shirt and it's a Camp Bacon shirt!!

Today I feel like I did when I was pregnant for my son and craved bacon all day every day and the cravings continued while I was nursing him and one of my coworkers offered to bring in a big chafing dish full of bacon for me to nibble on while I was on the air but I didn't let her because it just seemed kind of obnoxious but now I'm wishing I had because now I'd at least have the memory of it.

30 days of Harley Pasternak - Day 5

I decided to do one of Harley Pasternak's workouts every day in June, after being abruptly forced into summer clothes. I think I started on Day 3 because that's what my daughter had left in the VCR and on Day 3 or Day 4 Harley had me doing lunges until my eyes bled. Needless to say, I've been sore all week. I've been popping Ibuprofen like it's candy and one day I couldn't even walk up or down the stairs.

AND, I'm fatter than ever. Every part of me is bloated and swollen and protruding and this is not what I was going for. But now I can't stop. Now it's a mission. Now I MUST find a way to fit this video in every. single. day.

I was hoping, by July 1, to buy myself a bikini for the first time since giving birth but I don't see it happening. By July 1 I will be the size of a parade balloon. Puffy and bloated and tethered to earth by sweaty and determined volunteers holding on to ropes.

It's quite an accomplishment, I know.

Baseball and Twitter and please see the previous post about little league

My husband came tearing into the bedroom last night (simmer down) and grabbed the remote yelling "You've got to watch this!" He hit channel 32 then went on to explain to me that Armando Galarraga was two batters away from pitching a perfect game (and everything that entails). So we watched, together, as Jim Joyce made The Call Heard Round The World.

"Armando, you were robbed." I immediately Tweeted.

I happened to have Twitter pulled up at the time and there is something very exciting about being on Twitter when things like this happen. It's nowhere near the excitement/disappointment that must have been palpable at Comerica Park last night, but it was pretty fun to see Twitter go crazy with posts about something I had just witnessed.

I didn't watch any post-game coverage, I could well imagine what every sports talking head would be saying. But I was pleased to see the quote from umpire Jim Joyce in the paper this morning. (I still think Joyce looked physically ill immediately following the play, like he knew right away he'd made a bad call.)

And now I'm going to borrow a Facebook post from a friend, Jeff Gilbert, a reporter for WWJ and probably one of the nicest people you'll ever meet:

We may have missed seeing a perfect game last night, but we did see one of the best life lessons ever! In a world where people "spin" things, hide from the media, and sometimes directly lie, an umpire wasted no time in taking responsibility, and apologizing. And a young pitcher who was robbed forgave him with a smile.

Well said, Jeff. And I couldn't help but contrast this with the little league situation I had witnessed just two nights earlier where parents/coaches of little boys were yelling at each other and harassing teenage umpires "WHY was that a strike? WHY?" all so their kid could "win."

Thank you, MLB, for showing us what winning is really about. Grace and dignity under pressure and owning up to your mistakes.

Little League Stinks

Apparently last night at the little league playoff game I was the adult that was the problem.

Allow me to set the scene:

The four coaches from the opposing team and the two coaches from our team were all yelling at each other about who should be penalized because the coaches had been on the field too many times while some poor 9-year old boy is standing at the plate with his bat at the ready and after five minutes of yelling at each other one of these genius coaches (who have been in charge of our sons for the last eight weeks) finally starts yelling to "just let the kid bat!" and then they all start yelling at the kid to bat and the kid is a nervous wreck and his little eyes are darting from coach to coach and I finally can't take it anymore and yell "IGNORE the grownups!"

Again, I'm the problem.

Little league is killing me this year. A coach who shall-remain-nameless didn't have a game last night so he went out and scouted two other teams that were in the playoffs. These are 8 AND 9 YEAR OLD BOYS. This isn't even a travel league! And I can't say anything because of potential repercussions against my kid. So I bite my tongue and only yell when I just. can't. take. it. anymore.

I. just. can't. take. it. anymore.

Is it wrong for me to root against my own kid's team so we can be done with this?

Why Am I Bradley Cooper?

According to my clairvoyant friend, Camille, we are everyone in our dreams.

So I've spent today trying to figure out why I'm Bradley Cooper, an incredibly hot, talented, and wealthy actor who is 11 years younger than me and went to a much better school.

Last night I dreamed we were starring in a movie together and even had a make-out scene (ok, it was really a sex scene but I fear that makes me sound pervy).

I just really wanted to tell everyone about that dream.

Straight To The Dog Days

I finally understand what Spring is really about.

Because this year we went straight from temps in the mid-60's to temps in the high-80's in less than a week and we didn't have the need or get the time for the buffer wardrobe and so I went from completely covered up to tank tops in 6 days and that is not nearly enough time.

I need the weeks of lighter-weight pants and short sleeves to make me gently recognize and begin to work on the cellulite that has accumulated over the winter. Going straight from sweaters to spaghetti straps is too shocking, too overwhelming, and too much skin to deal with.

I'm sure when you're 20, the sudden switch from parka to bikini is a simple matter of Tan Towels and a Pilates class; achievable in under 24 hours. The older you get, the longer the transition takes and I think that's why Diane Keaton continues to wear turtlenecks throughout most of the summer in Something's Gotta Give; she finally made the switch to v-necks by late July/early August and her date with the young Doctor (played so darn well by Keanu Reeves and no I don't have a small crush but what if I did there's no law against it).

What I'm trying to say is, I either need Cellulite Boot Camp or an Arsenal of Turtlenecks and Unlimited Funds for the Air Conditioning Bill. I'm hot as hell and I can't take it anymore.

I wish I could write at night

Perhaps I should clarify.

I am physically capable of writing at night, but the mental process escapes me. I recognize all kinds of great ideas and writing after 8 p.m. but am not capable of creating them myself.

OK, that's not exactly true. I'm good at short bursts. Twitter kinda works for me after 8 pm. (example: What really made The Biggest Loser guy look better? Losing 150 lbs or losing the Hurley from Lost perm? See, not bad, huh?)

The house is quiet, I'm comfy in my pajamas (is that too much information?), and I would LOVE to be able to pound out some prose or blogging or something. Yet here I sit, quoting Law and Order. And have I mentioned that some kid at my daughter's school tried to blow himself up with jewelry-making equipment today and ended up in a scuffle with a couple of teachers who got injured trying to subdue him? Who knew jewelry-making was so dangerous. Of course, my daughter's biggest issue with this "incident" was that one of the hero teachers pulled the fire alarm and "we were out there for, like, a long time and it was really hot." Which is why you should always. be. hydrating.

No one ever listens.

Thank you

A lot of very nice people have been sending me very nice messages and I'd just like to say

THANK YOU

to all of you.

However, to those who are saying nice things with a condescending tilt of the head and a little bit of "poor you" in your voice I say Knock It Off because I'm not Conan O'Brien, I didn't get screwed over, and I have plenty to do. Really.

Hypocrites

First, I'd like to extend my congratulations to Rima Fakih, the newly crowned Miss America. Next, I would like to extend a SHUT UP ALREADY to the radio station that CAN'T STOP trying to get some attention from her success.

A personality from this radio station had no qualms whatsoever about posting pics from their website of Rima at a station-sanctioned striptease party on his Facebook page first thing Monday morning ("Homegrown talent! Here's some pics!"), then spent the rest of the day belittling every other news source who also wanted copies of the pics and/or talked about it.

This morning the radio station Tweeted about having a copy of a movie that she appeared in called Throbbing Justice, but were also posting comments about how "exhausted" they were over requests for the stripper pics.

You're not exhausted, you've been called out as the hypocrites you are. Own it and shut up.

This morning the Facebook page had a link to an article that "finally got it right." This is from the article on msnbc.com "The pictures had been on [the site] since Fakih participated in the contest in 2007, but nobody seemed to take any notice of them, not even when the dark-haired beauty became Miss Michigan USA to earn a spot in the Miss USA pageant that was held last week in Las Vegas. But as soon as Fakih was crowned Sunday night, the tabloid media started digging for dirt on her."

This isn't exactly true. The media didn't "go digging," they were handed the photos on a Facebook platter. And the station didn't have a problem handing them over until everyone else in town started asking WHY they would do such a thing.

I'll tell you why they would do such a thing: ratings, attention, dollars.

Which was fine until it turned on them and everyone started accusing them of besmirching a beauty queen for ratings, attention, and dollars and they decided to act all innocent.

Man up.

Go, sis, go

My nieces are competitive dancers and I am not a fan. I'm a BIG fan of my nieces, don't get me wrong, but I am not a fan of dance competitions. For one thing, their point system seems to be loosely based on ALL point systems in existence...they incorporate metals (gold, metal, silver), gems (ruby, emerald), and the old-fashioned first, second, third into one stew that is unappetizing when served and makes the receiver wonder exactly what they got. ("Is there meat in this? Tofu?") I swear my youngest niece once came home with a Second Ruby Platinum Award and I said "Yes, but did she win?" and my sister said "Well, she was first in her age division but fourth overall" and really, if you're going to make these girls spend all their time practicing and giving up their weekends and wearing false eyelashes for 10 hours at a stretch they should at least be able to go home KNOWING that they danced better than Susie Tapshoes.

I also don't like the aspect of it that hit the news last week - little girls in skimpy outfits doing moves they don't understand to lyrics they shouldn't repeat. My sister insists that the dance company her daughters patronize attends only family-friendly dance competitions (No Hoochy Displays Allowed!) and was, in fact, in town for one such competition this past weekend. To her dismay, there was a lot more on display than ability. She reported that one number resembled a Vegas show she'd seen a while back and was TOTALLY INAPPROPRIATE for my nieces (and therefore 80% of the audience) to watch.

So my sister sat down and wrote a letter to the owners of the competition - and quoted their very own website at them and suggested that if they really believe the "family-friendly" values that they proudly tout that perhaps they should school their judges to stop giving top awards to the skanky groups (a top award being a Platinum Diamond First or some other such nonsense).

I've never been more proud. I'm giving her a Platinum Diamond First!

Update: How about she got a response from these losers and all it said was "I respectfully disagree." WTF?! So I checked out the website myself and in the banner at the top it says "Nice matters." Really?! Getting flashed is nice? No, getting flashed is gross. Learn the difference.

Why is private school so darn expensive?

I'm a little cranky today because an administrator who shall remain nameless at my son's school approached my son and said "Your mom called me and told me you are having some trouble with some kids in school," and, DUDE, I NEVER CALLED YOU!

My son IS having trouble with some kids in school. I refuse to totally blame the other kids - my son is a tad dramatic and tends to over react and I know this is like catnip to elementary-age boys - but, really, when my son comes home and says he can't get his work done because a kid keeps continuously tapping him with a pencil or putting his hand over my son's paper so he can't see his work I get a little annoyed. And I know kids do things to each other but it's the same kids over and over and I've already been in to talk to the teacher who is doing the best she can and yes, I do realize that if my son were able to focus a little better he wouldn't be having half the problems he's having but how is supposed to be able to focus with all the CRAP going on?

All of this does not change the fact that someone LIED to my son. I don't care if you need to address the issue and need to find a way to approach him, find a way to do it without lying. I don't need you undermining MY relationship with my son to address an issue that should have been addressed months ago - and it should have been addressed months ago because I have had to say the same thing to my son after school every day this year...."Just ignore them."

Thank you for getting a puppy

My daughter and I are both suffering from Tiny Dog Fever. We are dying for a small dog we can transfer from purse to purse and dress up in ridiculous outfits. Whenever we see a small dog we have to alert the other:

"TINY DOG! TINY DOG"

"TINY DOG IN A PINK SWEATER!"

"CURIOUS TINY DOG IN A SWEATER THAT WON'T KEEP WALKING BECAUSE IT FOUND SOMETHING SMELLY ON THE SIDEWALK!"

My husband is totally against dogs, even other people's dogs. I'm guessing there's some traumatic crotch-sniffing incident from his youth. And while I want a dog in theory, I do realize that getting a dog is like having another baby who remains a toddler forever and I'd like to thank all the people in my life who have suddenly gotten puppies (and there seem to be a lot of you, hmmm) and are sharing all kinds of stories of being up all night and being dragged outside at all hours and, basically, looking like hell while you talk about your beloved new puppy. You're like puppy birth-control; thank you.

Ants

Every spring the carpenter ants start trying to take over my house. It's quite annoying, especially when someone - who shall remain nameless - likes to leave glasses that have held juice just sitting out on the kitchen counter without rinsing them (and why not put them in the dishwasher that is right there?). Used juice glasses are like crack for ants. And they're those big black ants that are so fat you can see every individual section of their body and that makes them look extra creepy and they seem to have an innate defensive mechanism because they will RUN when a paper towel is heading in their direction.

They don't really seem to learn, though. If you leave the smushed-up carcass of one lying around as a lesson to the others they do not heed it or even try to drag the body away for a proper burial. Even if they show up together it's every ant for themselves when the killing starts. You always hear about how ants are so great at working together; but, I'm telling you, they don't live up to their PR in my kitchen.

This is from a report my son did in the 2nd grade: 1. Did you know army ants live in tropical jungles because they do. 2. A lot of ants together is so strong they can beat a black beetle. 3. And speaking of strong, it takes only two ants to lift one fat caterpillar.

Does that mean that one ant could lift a thin caterpillar?

Math help

Anyone who can add these elements to = peace please shoot me an email and let me know how you solved it.

1 half day of school.
2 controllers for the Wii
3 kids

Extra credit if you can get the Kindergartner who is addicted to Super Mario Bros. to stop crying.

Why does a lawyer need a spray tan? No, this isn't the beginning of a joke

I'm trying to pay attention to the news while not being distracted by how. very. badly. my entire house needs to be vacuumed and then Sam Riddle gets interviewed after being let out of jail and starts going OFF on Kym Worthy and how her office is full of "chaos and disorder" or something (my short-term memory is shot, my apologies) and then Sam's lawyer comes on and why does Sam Riddle's attorney need a spray tan? Why?

These are the things that keep me up at night when I should be getting to bed early so I can be funny in the morning!

People who steal from schools

All day I've wanted to sit down and write about that group that charged the Detroit Public Schools millions of dollars to teach the DPS employees how to live healthier lives and then took the money and went shopping and traveling and got manicures and basically did everything except teach the DPS employees how to live healthier lives or even live healthier lives themselves.

But I ended up with quite a full day - a radio shift, writing for one of my part-time jobs, a long, necessary talk with my son, fixing the printer, folding laundry, and a walk because I've eaten nothing but carbs for a week and I'm pretty sure that by Tuesday at noon none of my clothes will fit any longer - and I haven't had time to sit down and write and now it's time for bed because 4:15 is just a few hours away, but I'm still STUMPED and MAD and in DISBELIEF that something like this could even happen.

How does something like this even happen?

Who steal from kids? Who steals from kids that are already suffering? Who steals from kids who come to school without coats or breakfast? How the hell do you convince yourself that the Louis Vuitton bag you are carrying isn't a computer that could be helping several kids develop necessary skills? And even if you have no conscience of your own to keep you from acting like such a major A$$HOLE, how do you do all of this without thinking you are going to get caught?

OK, I've vented and now I can go to bed. Thanks for your patience.

I. Am. So. Stupid.

All month I've been spitting into test tubes (did I warn you that this post was about spit? Sorry. My bad.) and collecting them in my freezer (much to my family's disgust) so I can get my hormone levels tested because I. Am. Getting. Old.

Apparently I'm also hopeless because I've screwed up the test.

I had all these days marked in my calendar that I'm supposed to do the test (i.e. collect saliva) and I thought the last day (where I have to do it, like, 8 different times during the day) was tomorrow but just looked at my calendar and I was supposed to do it today.

Stupid stupid stupid.

I'm going to do it tomorrow and send it in and hope it doesn't screw up my whole month of not eating and/or drinking coffee in the morning until the collection time was over. I'm SO MAD at myself.

Carry on.