Poetry-The Next Challenge

Poetry, poetry you try my patience,
My heart protests at your pitiful rhyme
Poetry, poetry will the works flow
Will I write a piece with enough time

Poetry, poetry nothing is calming
Nerves are enbalming my mind as I type
Poetry, poetry I hate to write you
After I'm finished it's nothing but hype

Poetry, poetry where is the rythm
the ryhme and the reason for writing this crap
Poetry, poetry if it wasn't for this class
I'd never write you, it'd be a mishap

Just a few thoughts I've had about writing a Chant Poem.  I'm not a poet, but unfortunately it is the last section in my creative writing class.  Please feel free to post a comment.  Thanks for reading.  More drivel and nonsense to come, I'm sure.

Write, Write, Write

Earlier this year I began taking an on-line creative writing class.  I wanted something productive to do with my extra time.  I thought it would give me a creative outlet and a chance for self-expression that I just don't get in my normal day-to-day life.  I hoped to complete the class by now, but life has a way of taking the best laid plans and screwing them up. 

I've started several novels.  I've written essays and short stories.  I also started this blog.  My highschool english teacher would be so proud of me.  Now if I could just finish what I started.  So in light of my recent procrastination, here I am at my keyboard typing this out.  It is in defiance of the time restraints my life imposes.  I want to write.  I love to write.  But my time seems to slip away and is gobbled up by other obligations.

By writing I've learned so much about myself, good and bad.  I've made some new friends and lost a few old ones along the way.  Not everyone understands my art, the drive to put the words on paper, the little piece of myself inserted into each letter typed.  Some easily discredit the effort it takes, are unsupportive or basically uninterested in my hobby.  I mean each of us are truly selfish creatures and really want it to be all about us.  It's not enough to rejoice in another's success.  In the words of the great poet, Alain Whyte, "We hate it when our friends become successful."  That's another thing I learned by writing.  I've learned the depths of love and forgiveness, the true ties that bind us to one another, the joy of laughter and the pain of loss.  Writing has opened up new doorways and new vistas.  My future doesn't seem so pre-determined now.  Writing has given me a new outlook on the future. 
    
So as next year approaches and another year slips away.  I guess my goals, my resolutions for next year are simple: write, write, write.

Married and Dating-Trips Down the Aisle

This week’s episode of Married and Dating features an unexpected trip down the aisle, new dining adventures and a double feature.  Read on for the juicy details! 

Here we are folks, the big holiday weekend. Hope you’ve all been having fun. My ever loyal hubby has been really sick. Yes, he caught it from me, but not without a full disclosure of my illness in advance. I will not take the blame for his current state, even if I have been making a lot of comfort foods this week to cheer him up. He is pretty happy about being off work, so the cookies I made were just icing on the cake so to speak.

Because of the extra time off, we had planned a date day. What is a date day? Why it’s a date that starts early in the day and ends in the evening. Nana had offered to watch the offspring for the day. Yipee!!!

Granted I thought my sweetie would cancel, but he stubbornly manned up and took me out. For those following our adventures, remember that I was sick last time and he promised me we could do whatever I wanted this time. (Flashback to the November Beer Edition for details of this promise.) It was my pick and I wanted to see a movie.

We got an early start on Friday. I always make a little extra effort on our dates to put aside my normal mom gear (sweats and sneakers) and actually try to resemble a woman, a sexy woman, a woman you’d actually like to be seen out with in public, a woman that isn’t picking baby food off her shirt or wearing the same wrinkled outfit from two days ago. Yes, folks I fixed my hair, wore my contacts and did my makeup. I also wore a new outfit, Levi’s that actually look good on me and weren’t ripped, a white v-neck sweater, my favorite silver hoop earrings given to me by Sarah F., and my favorite new shoes, red platform sandals, made from the softest, buttery leather available. I’m short, so heels are a must for me when we are going out. My favorite male even gave me a compliment, so the date was starting out just fine.

We dropped the kids off and made it to our first movie, an action packed epic end of the world piece. We found out that Ultra Star Cinemas in our area does a half priced movie for the first showing of the day and all day on Tuesdays. That is a good deal folks! While I bought the tickets, hubby ran across to the store and bought some M&M’s, because really what’s a movie without snacks, but who can afford $3 M&M’s now-a-days? Then we went in and picked a seat in an old fashioned non-stadium theater.

At first I was worried, during the pre-show the sound was off and I thought it was not going be very good, since the theater is obviously older, but the second the actual pre-views started the Digital kicked in and it was perfect. We munched on our candy and settled in for a great action adventure film, after a few bites though, the whole side of my head starts aching. Now with this virus, I’ve been experiencing weird sinus pain and even tooth/jaw pain. So, I dig in my purse for an Aleve and stand up to go get some water hoping the shooting pains in my head will subside. I take two steps down the aisle and trip and fall, landing on my hands and knees. I’m freaking out, trying to collect my self esteem and scrape my body up off the floor. I try to stand and twist my ankle, then take another step and almost fall again. A collective gasp is heard from the mainly older crowd watching the movie with us. I think many of them were blaming my foot wear choice, or wondering if I'd been drinking, while others were remembering that time their Aunt Betty fell and was never the same again. Whatever the case, I’d made enough of a scene and managed to make my way up the incredibly long aisle to the back without another fall.

As I stumbled out of the theater and into the light, I wondered why I’d fallen. Now my knee was hurt too, I really needed that Aleve. So I shake it off, get the water, take my medication and head back to the theater. As I’m standing in the back, I realized the aisle lights on our side of the theater were not on. That’s why I fell, I had no depth perception and I couldn’t see how steep the incline was. If I had been really hurt, I would have made a big deal to the management, but by the end of the movie, my knee was fine. I did however, point out the broken lights and warn the manager who promptly called it in for repair.

My husband said it was like a scene out of some silly comedy, where the hot chick is walking down the sidewalk, the wind blowing the hair from her face, licking her perfect pouting lips and then she trips. Boom! I have lived that moment. Let me tell you, it was not as funny happening in real life as it is watching it on a screen.

After that, the rest of the date was anti-climatic. We had a great late lunch/early dinner at Bare Back, a New Zealand Burger place on ‘E’ downtown. Friday is all day happy hour and they do these $2 wheel spins. We tried it twice hoping for beer, (cause you guys know my Dave and his beer) we ended up getting shots instead. Oh well, it was happy hour. So I got a share a shot, take a shot of Vodka and Dave got a surfer on acid, not our normal drink choices, but hey for $2 whose complaining.

Then, we headed two blocks over to Horton Plaza to take in a teenaged romance movie. Found perfect parking and got perfect seats, that is until the whole high school soccer team showed up and sat in front of us. Talk about rude teenage girls, several had already seen the film and were quoting it verbatim, others were texting, the glow from their phones causing much distraction to their neighbors and still others were loudly talking during the whole show. All I could think is maybe we should have rented this one instead and saved our money.

This episode of married and dating will go down in infamy as the time I tried to look my best, but ended up looking like a fool. Oh well, that’s just how I roll.

Married and Dating-November's Beer Edition

What can I say?  My adventures as a married mom dating her life partner continue.  In this months installment, you will find a sick woman, a group of revelers and Paul Masson. 

San Diego celebrated it's first annual San Diego Beer Week.  My husband, who is a home brewer with big dreams, was so stinking excited.  He planned to attend as many events as possible during the week.  The San Diego Brewers Guild had over 250 events planned during the week.  Dave picked four to go to.  I think he would have picked more, but he didn't have the time or the money.

Of course I couldn't go with him to four outings in the same week.  I mean really, who would watch the children?  Plus, I'm a wine drinker, so beer, although great with pizza and chili, is not my cup of tea.  Really, I will drink a beer with a meal once in awhile, but I can take it or leave it. 

However, I didn't want my hubby attending all those events alone, so I agreed to be his DD (designated driver) and go to a vintage beer tasting on Thursday evening.  He was so cute, like a  puppy with a new bone.  It was adorable seeing him so excited about something. 

What is a vintage beer tasting, you ask?  The word vintage means old.  Now old beer may sound bad to most of you.  But depending on the style of beer and how it was aged, it may actually taste better the older it is.  In fact some brewers are now manufacturing beers with the intent to age them, much like a fine wine. 

Joey, the owner of South Bay Drugs in Imperial Beach, was hosting this event at La Bella Pizza in Chula Vista.  South Bay Drugs is actually very famous for it's unique and unusual beer offerings.  Joey is quite the expert when it comes to micro-brews.  His event was limited to 50 participants and it sold out completely.  The DD's got in free and got to eat free pizza. 

We hired a sitter (Thanks LaMicha!) We were really looking forward to spending some time together.  Our event was on Thursday evening, by Tuesday evening I have a sore throat.  Now two of my kids and my mom have all been sick.  I was hoping I was not coming down with anything.  By Wednesday night, I felt like crap.  I told my husband, "The only thing worse than feeling like crap is looking like crap!"  I was not going to cancel on him.  He'd already bought his ticket.  I was going even if it killed me.

Thursday dawns and I have no voice.  My normal Minnie Mouse voice sounds like a smoker of 60 years and I have a horrible cough.  But I'm determined to muscle through the day.  I try to nap.  I take Day Quil and I hope and pray for the best.  I clean up, dress up and hope to fake my way through date night.  I pick up the sitter and we're off.

We get to the tasting event and Dave is like a kid in a candy store.  At first there are no seats so we just stand in a corner while he sips his first beer sample.  The restaurant had double booked the area and the first event hadn't cleared out yet.  Finally, they left after entertaining all of us with their fight song (local football team.)  Then the grown ups took over and spread out.  It was a really nice group.  Everyone was friendly and laid back.  Many were table hopping and spreading the beer cheer.  People had brought unusual beers from around the world to share with the group.  Joey and his band of merry men and women shared tidbits about the various beers and gave additional samples out to finish up any leftover bottles. 

The pizza was great but salty.  Eventually I asked Dave to get me a drink from the bar downstairs.  I figured one glass of wine early in the evening would not cause a driving issue later.  So being a beer guy, Dave asks the bartender for a white wine.  One sip in and I ask, "what is this?"  He answers "I don't know."  I didn't see the bottle she poured it from.  It could even be from a box." I shudder.  Box wine, yuck!  I say in my best wine snob voice "This is the Coor's Light of wines."  I knew if I made a beer reference he'd understand how truly awful it was.  But it's not like the restaurant had a wine list.  The choices were white, red or pink. 

So suffering from a severe cold, drinking nasty wine and eating greasy pizza...while my honey is having a marvelous time drinking great old vintage beers with other beer dudes and dudettes.  As far as date nights go, it wasn't my best.  But like I told my hubby, the important thing for me is spending time with him. 

Eventually though, my cold got the best of me and I insisted we take our leave.  Dave was fine.  I'd soldiered up and done my spousal duty and won a few wifely bonus points.  He even promised as we left that on our next date night, he'd do something just for me.  As we wandered out of the restaurant, we walked through the bar.  The bartender was pouring someone a glass of Paul Masson wine.  The Coor's light of wines....my wine, was a Paul Masson.  Nope, that sealed it as officially my worst date night ever.

P.S. Joey and his group did a fine job in hosting this event.  We would attend again next year.  I think if I had not been sick, things would have been better.  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.  Until next month...happy dating the one you love!     

Coffee

I'm one of those people who doesn't just enjoy a cup of coffee, I need coffee.  The smell, texture, aroma and the feel of the warm cup in my hands, comforts and inspires me at the same time.  I wake up just to drink that first cup.  It is the sweetest best moment of the day, the half sip of caffienated love warming my lips, throat and belly as it makes it's way into my system.

Coffee figures predominantly in many of my memories. When I was a baby, my grandma would put just a little in my milk bottle with sugar and cream.  I remember those bottles.  When I was studying all night during Pioneer School, coffee made it possible to pull an all-nighter and still be awake during the classes the next day.  When hubby and I opened our wedding presents, our friends had bought us a Krups coffee maker/cappucino machine.  We wore it out!  When my friends wanted to hang out, we went to the coffeehouse nearby to listen to music and play games.  One of my previous employers used Starbuck's as a reward, giving me gift cards or showing up with my favorite drink to say thanks.  Recently, my sister-in-law gave me a coffee maker as an anniversary gift.  Coffee has always been a big part of my life.

When it comes to coffee, my preferences are pretty clear: dark strong coffee, slightly sweetened with cream.  If the cream is flavored it must be French Vanilla.  One of my old co-workers called my morning cup of coffee "Cake."  I call it yummy! 

I'm a creature of habit and drink out of the same cup everyday.  It actually holds one and a half cups of joe.  It features the painting of "Scream" by E. Munch.  I'm a pretty happy person, so the contradiction of the angst on the cup to my morning sunshine is humorous to me.  I'm a morning person, but coffee makes every morning better.

Who knows what future memories I will have while drinking a cup of freshly brewed coffee.  So many family celebrations and mornings with my kids lay ahead.  But I do know one thing:
"Life is too short to drink bad coffee, cheap beer and awful wine."     

Smokey-The Wonder Cat

Here is a family tale from many years ago.  It may sound familiar, but in this case it's true.  It's about home, hearth, love and a wonderful cat named Smokey.  This story is for anyone who ever loved and lost a pet.

My husband and his family owned a grey and white long-haired cat named Smokey.  They had Smokey forever.  He was actually quite old when this incident occured.  Some of the facts may be a little confused, you'd have to ask my mother-in-law to get the whole story, but this is how I remember hearing it and I'd like to share this tail, I mean tale with you.

Dave, my significant other, was still in elementary school at the time of this event.  His whole life he'd had three siblings, Jeff, Cherie and Smokey.  The cat was family and indeed it was often treated as Dave's older brother.  Everyone loved Smokey, he was easygoing, lovable and friendly, even to small children.  One of my favorite baby pictures of my husband is him in his pajamas holding a fluffy and tolerant Smokey in his chubby little arms.     

The neighbors had been packing for an extended vacation.  Their garage door had been hanging open all morning as they got the old 1970's sedan loaded up.  The man walked over to tell Dave's folks goodbye and then they were off to destinations unknown.  A hush fell over the neighborhood after all of the earlier activity.

Later that night as the Swader family settled in, they realized their beloved pet had not returned home for dinner.  In fact, they began to worry that maybe Smokey had gotten locked in the neighbors garage while they were packing their car.  Dave's dad went over to their house and listened to hear any strange meowing noises.  But it was perfectly silent.  Maybe Smokey was just wandering the neighborhood, they thought. 

But when Smokey still had not returned the next day, the whole family started preparing for the worst.  He was pretty old and maybe he'd gotten hurt or left to die in peace.  After a very long week, the Swader's felt that they had seen the last of their precious family member.  Each was dealing with the loss in their own way.  It was hard on all of them and an air of sadness settled over their happy home.

The next week, the neighbors returned home.  The man immediately sought out Dave's dad who was working in the garage. "Bob" he said with a heavy sad voice, "Smokey somehow got into our trunk while we were packing.  We didn't hear him meow or know he was there until we stopped for a bathroom break.  We opened the trunk to get something and out popped your cat.  We tried to catch him, but he ran off and we couldn't find him.  I'm so sorry."  The neighbor and his family were all very sad to bear such bad news.

So at last the Swader's had some closure.  They knew their cat was out there, but he was a city cat and more than likely did not survive in the woods, so near the interstate.  They all made peace with the fact that Smokey was gone forever.  They even talked about getting a new kitten once everyone was ready.

A couple of months later, Dave's mom was working in the kitchen when she heard a faint meow at the glass sliding door.  Looking out the window, she had the shock of her life.  There sat a much skinnier and very dirty Smokey.  Somehow he'd survived the 300 mile trek back home, back to his family.  How he survived or even knew which direction to travel in, they never knew.  But Smokey, the wonder cat, not only survived the dangerous trip home but he lived to the ripe old age of 22 before finally leaving his loving family forever. 

Take a moment to hug your family pet today and marvel at God's wonderful creations.  There is nothing like a pet to make a house a home.

 

Another Installment of Married and Dating

This weeks installment of married and dating includes interpetive dance, silly questions, impersonations of impersonators and finishes with a wonderful performance by the hubbies...but I'll save that for later.

The week after our Vegas trip, my manly man helped some friends move, cause that's how we roll.  We try to help our friends when they need us.  So to thank us for our assistance, we were invited to a grown up dinner party.  No kids, just nine adults, eating, drinking, laughing and having a great time. 

First came the proverbial chit-chat.  "How was your trip to Napa?"  "Our friends keep asking us to move to Alaska."  "The neighbors are driving me crazy."  "Are you settled in yet?" "Would you like to see my photos?"  And the ever popular "Mac vs. PC" conversations.  Not one comment was made about Legos, Star Wars, or Dora.  It was refreshing for the four full-time parents in the group.

Then the appetizer's were served.  Yummo (to quote Rachel Ray)!  Incredibly large green olives, stuffed with garlic and wrapped in bacon, broiled until crispy on the outside were served on little skewers along with cheese spread and crackers.  Delicious. 

This was followed by a wonderful chicken basil penne, salad and breadsticks.  During which our host pulled out his impersonation of Billy Crystal doing an impersonation of Sammy Davis, Jr.  It was hysterical and actually quite good coming from a tall, white, non-Jewish guy.

Once we stopped rolling on the floor with laughter, our hosts cleared the dishes and we proceeded to play a fierce game of Apples to Apples, in which we all argue about why our card should be picked over another players.  It was loud, really loud, earsplitting loud and totally rowdy.  The winning card was for the word "Fantastic" one of the options was "rainbows" which are pretty and very nice, but since I was the judge that round I had no choice but to pick "Underwear."  Oh I know many of you may be confused as to my pick, but ladies face it, life without Spanx and Wonder Bras would never be the same.  In my opinion, the advances in underwear is fantastic.  We look better, feel better, walk taller and prouder, feel our sexiest in brand new underwear.  Nothing makes a woman feel more womanly than the slide of lace, satin or pretty printed cotton, in a rainbow of colors, in all varieties....underwear is fantastic.

Dessert was served and who doesn't love a parfait?  A huge hit with the whole group, I've personally never seen nine cleaner dessert dishes in my life.  If my tongue was longer I would have licked my glass clean, but alas I possess a short and stunted tongue.

Then we tried another game.  To be honest, I don't even know it's name, we were totally breaking all the rules by playing in teams, men vs. women, instead of individually.  We had to guess the other teams answer to the choices and then there were these challenge squares, which proved to be very interesting.  There was the normal bickering among spouses, the psychological manuvering of people who've been married forever and can practically read each others thoughts, and the girls were kicking the guys butts.  That is until we landed on our first challenge square. 

The guys picked a challenge, thinking we'd be squeamish and balk at it, they really don't understand women very well, do they?  Three of the ladies in the group are moms, who can do anything.  Never, ever think you can break a mom.  Men as a rule underestimate women, even though we're "Awesome." 

So what was the challenge, you ask?  We had to perform an interpetive dance of a cat chasing a mouse.  Piece of cake, we all started channeling our inner feline and pawing and meowing and basically chasing Rey around the room (she was our designated mouse.)  The men were forced to concede our superiority at interpetive dance.  Come on guys, pick something a little harder next time.

But as the saying goes, payback's a b**** well you know what I'm thinking.  It was the guys turn for a challenge and Rey and her mom picked a good one, with music and all.  The remaining three guys, had to get on their hands and knees and bounce their posteriors to the beat of the music.  After much protest and a brief wrestling match over a video camera, the guys agreed and assumed their postitions on the carpet.  As Michael Jackson blared from the stereo, the guys started bouncing their butts up and down to the beat.  It was the funniest moment of the night, at least for the ladies.  I think the ladies officially won, but the guys get an "A" for effort.  Oh to have taped it and posted it on You Tube?  Maybe next time.

Until next date night, have a good one and keep on dating the one you love!

Welch's Wine

Wine, vino, mommy's juice, Chardonnay, Muscat, or Boone's, whatever you call it, it's the nectar of the gods.  Archeological evidence shows wine is one of mankinds earliest food arts.  Additionally winemaking in Europe dates back over 6,500 years ago.  In Sedalia, Missouri, winemaking, in our family, dates back to the early 1980's.

At that time my parents had accumulated a large amount of canned Welch's Grape Juice.  Made from the finest concord grapes grown in the heart of the east coast.  "The story of Welch's began in 1869 in Vineland, New Jersey – when physician and dentist Thomas Bramwell Welch and his son Charles processed the first bottles of "unfermented wine" to use during their church's communion service."  (Information courtesy of the Welch's Grape Juice Website. http://www.welchs.com/) Well, my dad got fed up with the "unfermented" juice and decided brilliantly to make Welch's Wine.

To this day, I'm not sure why my mom agreed to this project.  You see the hardest part of winemaking is growing the grapes, and Welch's had done that part for him already.  In my Dad's enthusiasm, he convinced my mom that he'd be able to make the finest wine from the cans we had stored in the basement.  I'm sure he promised her it would be as good as Boone's Farm, her favorite wine for company dinner.

So after reading several how-to books on the winemaking subject, my dad set up his homemade still.  It was a couple of wine bottles with plastic tubing running from them.  I think the tubes were to help with pressure released during fermentation.  He set it up on a shelf in our sunny yellow dining room, out of the reach of the four sets of little hands in our family.  He proudly showed his winemaking display off to our friends who stopped by.  They would sit around talking about how good the wine was going to be.  I think he even mentioned entering it in the fair if it turned out ok.

Then as with so many early attempts at winemaking, tragedy struck.  It was late one night, a couple of weeks into the project.  Our family was sound asleep, tucked into our beds and dreaming happy dreams.  Suddenly, we were jolted from our sleep by the sounds of exploding glass.  Had someone shot out a window?  Was there a car accident on the street outside of our house?  Sadly, no.  My dad's dreams of becoming the first Welch's Wine maker ended in a shower of glass and a spray of fermenting grape juice all over the yellow walls and white ceiling of our dining room.  It looked like a grape massacre had taken place in our dining room and it smelled pretty nasty too.

My dad learned a valuable lesson: there is a reason wine producers ferment wine in wooden barrels or steel drums.  That way there is no chance of an explosion during the fermentation process.  My mom quickly vetoed any additonal attempts at winemaking in our house.

My dad was deeply disappointed, but for my mom it was a blessing.  She'd been nagging my dad to paint the kitchen and dining room for months.  After the fatal wine explosion, my dad picked up some new paint and re-painted them on his next day off.  Maybe my mom really did know what she was doing when she agreed to let my dad make Welch's wine in the kitchen.

The Shout House

Date night once again looms on the horizon.  It's a monthly tradition my hubby and I enjoy.  We usually go out, eat, drink and be merry for a few precious kid-free hours.  We look forward to it and plan it so we can maximize every minute of the date experience. 

Last month we had an unexpected date night.  I injured my foot and needed to get some extra rest.  Good old mom came through and offered to watch the kids overnight for us.  Yipee!  We decided to head to the Gaslamp Quarter and have a little dinner.  It was a Wednesday night, so unlike most crazy weekends, downtown San Diego was dead.  We enjoyed our dinner and decided afterwards to go to the Shout House.  On Wednesday evenings there is no cover and the dueling pianos are great.  The guys who play are very talented and funny.  It's always a pretty calm crowd on a Wednesday too.

That is usually.  We'd been enjoying the music and laughing and singing along with the rest of the crowd.  A new group arrives, consisting of some military guys and their dates.  The girls were your typical So-Cal skanks.  The ringleader was wearing a piece of black cloth that barely covered her unmentionables and a hot pink bra.  She proceeded to flounce up on stage several times with requests.  The musicians were getting quite a kick out of her.  She was eye candy, that's for sure.  At one point they started to play one of her requests and she (drunkenly?) asked if she could dance on the stage while they play it.  What would you say if a cute little hottie asks if she can dance on your stage?  So of course, they said yes.

She proceeds to ask all of her other girlfriends to dance too.  None of them will go up there.  I don't think they were as drunk as she was.  She wheedles and whines, while flashing lots of skin, but still none of her friends will join her in the dance.  So then she starts asking if anyone in the audience will come and dance on the stage with her?  Surprisingly she gets a couple of other ladies up there too.  I might have, but the foot injury held me back.  One woman is a motherly type who is out for a fun night with some girlfriends.  The other two are pretty much nerdy girls, no makeup, plain jeans and t-shirts, Converse high tops, cute but not sexy like miss thinnnngggg!  They leave their two boyfriends sitting at the table and walk up to the stage holding hands.

The music starts and sexy girl starts your typical club dance moves.  She is swaying and moving her arms and singing loudly with the performers.  The older lady is also swaying and having fun.  Then you have the geek girls...

What up until now has been a relatively innocent night, turns on a dime into the show of a lifetime.  The two unassuming, normal looking, geeeky girls start to dance with each other.  They aren't waltzing here folks either.  No you guessed it.  They are bumping and grinding away at each other like some kind of Jerry Springer episode gone wild.  The noise in the place rackets up ten times as the girls dry hump each other on stage, including kissing and wrapping their legs around each other's waist.  The guys in the place are going wild.  Even my own faithful hubby is sitting there with his mouth hanging open and a glazed look of lust on his middle-aged face.  It was the funniest, unexpected, sexiest moment I've ever had the experience to have.  Of course if my husband hadn't closed his mouth and smiled sheepishly over at me, I probably would have smacked him over the head with my empty wine glass. 

Needless to say, sexy girl did not get back up on stage the rest of the night.  I think her ego was slightly bruised when she realized that the hooting and hollaring were for the nerdy girls and not for her.  We stayed a little longer and unfortunately did not get a repeat performance from the nerds.

Gosh, I wonder what will happen at this months date night? 

If you want to visit the Shout House here is their website: http://www.theshouthouse.com/San_Diego/home.asp

I hope you have as much fun as we did.

T.P.ing, Cow Tipping and Other Teenaged Activities

Do you remember when you were young and stupid? Sneaking out of the house to meet the neighbor boy for a stolen kiss or taking a late night stroll through a sleeping suburb with your best friend? Did you ever crank call your friends parents and ask them if the refrigerator was running? How about cow tipping (all my midwestern friends know what I'm talking about)? Did you ever T.P. a neighbors house, car or lawn?

When Zeke was two years old, Dave and I got really serious about our health. Having a child made us realize how important it was to be around to see our kids grow up. Gone were our carefree twenties, when we could eat whatever we wanted, drink like a fish (without a nasty hangover) and still go to work on less than four hours sleep. We were a family unit. If we wanted to be around another forty or fifty years we needed to make some serious lifestyle changes. We decided to watch what we ate and we walked for exercise. It worked. Dave lost 95 lbs. and I lost 30 lbs.

I know you're wondering how does our new lifestyle relate to crazy teenage pranks? Let me explain: Dave and I would often walk late at night, usually around 10 p.m. We lived in a very quiet suburban neighborhood with nice sidewalks and great street lighting. It was safe. We'd bundle up Zeke and tuck him in his stroller, taking turns pushing him up and down hills and around bends. If it was cold, we'd stop by Starbuck's on our way home for a coffee. It was great bonding for our little family.

One night while we were walking, we noticed some kids in our neighborhood were having a party. Good for them, we thought, remembering fondly our own parties at that age. You know how you look back on those years through rose colored glasses and only remember the good times, conveniently forgetting the bad. So we were happy for the group of teenagers hanging out on their lawn, laughing and listening to loud music. We spent the rest of our walk talking about it and laughing at our own stories of similar times.

We stopped in at Starbuck's around closing time. We ordered our vente, de-caf, fat-free, sugar-free vanilla latte and sat outside in the chilly fall night. It was perfect. We'd walked our three mile route, up and down hills and all around the neighborhood. We were feeling good. Our coffee was the perfect non-guilty treat at the end of a long work week.

We headed back toward home, talking softly since it was almost midnight. As we walked into the gates of our sub-division, we saw four kids running down the block laughing and back toward the party. I smiled and pointed them out to Dave. We jokingly wondered if their neighbors would be calling the cops about the noise since it was getting so late. Then we rounded the corner of our block and saw our front yard....

The little jerks had been busy. They had toilet papered our magnolia tree and our front lawn. The pale paper streamers glowed a ghostly white in the night against the glossy black of the magnolia leaves.

I was pissed. Now, most of you who know me well, know that it takes a lot to get me mad. I am not a hot head. I do not fly off the handle easily. I'm a nice person, but this was too much. I took a deep breath and embraced my boiling, bubbling anger. I told Dave I was going over there and I'm going to make them clean it up. I don't think he really thought I would accomplish much, but I started to march back down the road toward the now hated party house. Dave had no choice but to follow in my wake. It was either follow me or let me face the hoard of kids all alone, and he was too much of a gentleman to do that. I told him to get out his cell and dial 911 but to wait and see if I had any problems.

I marched up to the house, husband, and baby in stroller all in tow. It's midnight and all good feelings are gone. I'm cold, tired and mad. The little pricks were going to clean up the mess they made or I was calling the cops. I start knocking on the door. No one answers. I start ringing the door bell. Still no answer, although I can see heads peeking at me from behind curtains and whispered conversations ensuing. So I start yelling at the top of my lungs that if the kids responsible for the mess in my front yard don't get their asses outside that very minute I'm calling the cops on all of them. I told Dave to hold up his cell so they could all see it. He was wisely standing in the street guarding our innocent sleeping baby and holding up his cell phone above his head.

The door cracks open and a young man appears looking a little scared, other kids are visible inside on the stairway and in the hall. I asked him if he was the one who T.P.ed my front yard? He denied everything. He swore no one from their party was in our yard. Then I mentioned the fact that we saw two boys and two girls running from our house back to their house and if they didn't make them come out right away we were calling 911 and pressing vandalism charges.

The boy's face got really pale and he immediately started yelling for his friends to get outside now and clean up their mess or I was calling the cops on them. In fact all the kids at the party turned on the four and before I knew it, two boys and two girls were in my front yard cleaning up the six pack of extra strength Scott tissue that they'd thrown on our tree, our bushes and in our flower bed. In fact, I insisted they climb the tree in the dark and retrieve copious amounts of white paper from the branches above my lawn. They cleaned it up, every last bit of paper was removed and I thanked them sarcastically for their efforts to clean up their mess. Ughhhh!!!! Teenagers!!! Then, they apologized and called me ma'am.

That's when I realized that I was officially a grownup. It was the most depressing fact of the whole evening. Of course, my husband looked at me with a new found respect. I faced down a whole group of partying teenagers and won. In doing so, I lost the rest of my youth. No more prank calls, cow tipping, t. p.ing the neighbors house or other teenaged activities for me because... I'm all grown up now.

The Juggler

The juggler walks into the arena carrying three wooden bats glistening in the spotlights.  His costume is colorful, glowing red, orange, yellow and black.  His beautiful assistant stands in the shadows ready to toss him a ball or hand him a ring. 

He takes his place in the center ring and the music begins.  Softly it's tempo guides his hands.  He tosses first one bat, then another in beautiful rythm.  His muscles rippling in his shoulders and back, he calls for an additional bat.  His assistant steps from the shadow and gently lobs the gleaming wood to him.  He catches it with ease and without a single mistake adds gracefully to the others he was juggling. 

The minutes pass, his brow is sweating.  He is now juggling bats, balls, fruit, and boxes.  The act is intense, the juggler has reached his limit.  How much longer can he juggle so many different items?  How much longer will he maintain their perfect balance as they whip through the air?  How long until he let's something drop? 

The crowd is hushed in anticipation.  The crowd is equally excited for the juggler and yet hoping to see him fail.  It is bittersweet for his viewers knowing they can't have it both ways.

Then his assistant steps forward and tosses one last ring.  It sails high and straight, it's smooth circular lines immediately blending into the rythmic motion of the other items.  The beat of the music is faster now, matching the rotation of items gliding through the air.  The crowd gasps in amazement.  The juggler caught it and continued on as if he could juggle all night. 

In his stance, his posture the crowd can see fatigue.  They know the act must end soon.  They know it is coming to a close.  They can tell by his breathing, his arms motions, and the rapidly beating sounds of the drums.  Soon it will be over and inside the crowd is sad, because it will only be a memory.

The music reaches a crescendo and the juggler catches his various tools, one by one.  Lastly he catches a flying apple and smiling at the crowd he takes a big bite out of it.  The crowd goes wild with applause, leaping to their feet to show their appreciation.

The assistant begins gathering the items to remove from the ring.  The juggler takes his bows and turns to walk off into the dark.  His moment of fame fleeting and gone. 

All of us are jugglers in our lives.  We juggle work, family, finances, education, healthcare, friends, hobbies and so much more.  Some can juggle lots of things, others are overwhelmed by just one or two.  By the end of our performance, most of us are breathless and fatigued.  Our crowd of family, friends and co-workers watch us, waiting to see if we can keep our balance or if we will fail miserably.  The anticipation is palpable.  People love a train wreck.  When it's all over each one of us, whether a master juggler or a novice, will walk off into the dark.  Our act is over, the show must go on.

Power Puff Girls-an essay

I recently discovered old episodes of the cute cartoon heroines the Power Puff Girls on Boomerang. So I shared them with my children, ages 6, 3, and 2. Now daily the chant that rings through our house is Power Puff Girls, Power Puff Girls, Power Puff Girls. I've created a PPG monster and that is all they want to watch. If you haven't shared the PPG's with your young children, maybe you should. My kids love it. To bad they only have the same four episodes on our cable on demand. :(

Do You Wanna Dance Under the Moonlight?

Kiss me baby all through the night, ohhhh baby, do you want to dance???? Do ya, do ya, do ya, do ya wanna dance?

I love to dance. As a creative activity, it is right up there with writing as one of my favorite things to do. I can't dance enough. I love to watch dancing competitions. I love all styles of dance, from folk dances to ballet. I like learning the steps and practicing them in front of my mirror.

My current dancing passion is very sensual and romantic, belly dancing. I'm reading about, watching it on Fit TV and You Tube. I particularly like the program "SHIMMY". It is easy to follow instructional workout based on belly dancing moves and it really provides an exceptional abdominal workout. You can look it up on You Tube and see a partial segment of "SHIMMY" for yourself.

Despite the fact that I feel sexy when I'm doing the moves, I have already lost eight pounds and several inches off my waist and hips, so it works. I can see my abs improving daily. My posture is better. I sit up straighter and feel better all around. I have only been doing this three to four times a week for just over two weeks and the results are more than I dreamed of.

The nice thing about belly dancing is you do not have to be a stick to do it. In fact the curvier you are the more sensual the dance. The moves accentuate the breasts and hips making them even more erotic. Besides flattening the abdominals, belly dancing also tones up flabby arms and trims down hips and thighs.

All the way around it is a wonderful routine for any woman who wants to do something nice for herself. If you need a boost in your workout routine, try belly dancing. You may find that it's the perfect dance for you.

My Muse-a bit of fiction

Where have you gone my muse, my friend? You've been busy, you say, helping another lost soul create. Their creativity has stunted my own voice. I cannot work without your thoughts rattling around in my head. I do not blame you, my muse, for being busy and active. It is truly my own fault for relying on you so much. I've looked forward to the deep conversations and the arguments to propel my work forward into new depths and directions. When you turn your fickle head to other pursuits, I feel bereft and adrift with no direction. I've come to rely on you, my muse to entertain me, to educate me and now I've pushed you away. I've driven you away by my own selfish neediness. I've tormented you with boring commentary. I am a sponge soaking up the juices of your intellect, your insights. The differences we have in viewpoint about goals, life, dreams and ambitions drive me to think outside my personal point of reference. I long for the pearls of wisdom you share, they feed my spirit with their beauty. I haven't asked for much, just a minute or two of your time. Have I invaded your comfort zone my friend? I have burdened you with a task you no longer wish to have. I will release you, my muse, so you can go forward and help other mere mortals with their creative needs. Please know how much you've meant to me in my times of doubt and worry. Without your encouragement and pushing I would not be able to write a simple sentence. I will go on without your guidance, and if someday you return to me, I will welcome your help with openness and eagerness. In the meantime, I will stumble along on my own, seeking my own foolish wisdom. Goodbye dearest conversationalist, so long inspiration....my muse.

Challenges and Changes

How womankind, who are confined to the house still more than men, stand it I do not know; but I have ground to suspect that most of them do not stand it at all.-Henry David Thoreau

I worked for nearly twenty years before deciding to become a SAHM and work from home. I love my kids. They bring me the greatest of joys and the lowests of dispairs. They are my sun and now my life revolves around them 24/7. It is a blessing and a malediction.

In my quest for the perfect job to be able to stay at home, I tried many things. Running my own business, being an outside sales rep and even telecommuting but none of those jobs worked out for me. Finally I settled on property management simply because the opportunity presented itself. Happily I left the employ of my rather large and intimidating firm to work solo from my little desk in my cozy new apartment.

The first month or two were full of joy and celebrations, playing with my kids day and night, teaching them, cooking for them, entertaining them. Then the reality of daily life set in and I realized that if I didn't make a drastic change, I would lose my mind.

Suddenly instead of finding my children a joy, they were driving me crazy. I no longer had my own thoughts. They consumed all of my time and energy. I had nothing left for myself. My life balance was all out of whack. I had started resenting the very thing I had craved for so long, my children's undying complete attention.

To resolve this issue meant trying to get my husband to understand and sympathize. That did not go over so well. He still doesn't completely understand the issue or why I felt so depressed at the thought of caring for my own children. To be honest, neither did I. But I finally realized that I needed more. I needed connections with old friends, phone calls to family, and writing.

Writing became my salvation. It has provided me with the outlet I need to be myself. It has given me something to do beyond care for my family and the tiny four walls of my fortress. If you have ever felt this way, you understand exactly how I'm feeling. If you haven't, well then I'm glad for you. Happy parenting, happy blogging and happy writing!

Creative Writing

"And here I am, here I am, and you don't need to look so pleased."-Morrissey. I find inspiration to write in many places. My children, my husband, old friends, favorite songs, news clippings, photographs and old movies all add to my various pieces of written art. I want to share my art with you. I'm not trying to be the most clever, beautiful, brilliant or creative writer ever. I just want to write. It is in my blood and the beat of my heart moves this life giving fluid through out my body until every cell is infused with the desire to type and pound at my keyboard. I am driven by needs and desires of the cerebral kind. This blog is mine and only mine. I share it with you as a gift from my heart. You may comment if you like, but reserve your judgements. Constructive criticism is welcome, but be respectful. You are not nor will you ever be me. You do not know me even if you've known me forever. I may shock and surprise even the most jaded of readers and my fondest of friends. I may offend and occasionally make you angry. That's OK with me too. You don't have to read this drivel and nonsense if you don't want too. My work may take many forms, poetry, personal essays or fiction. I write for children, recipes, sci-fi and romantic fiction. Simply put, this is my work. I am not writing to please you or anyone else. At the same time, I hope you like what you read and come back often.

If you are a stay-at-home mom, I hope this blog encourages you to become creative and give back to yourself. Whatever your medium of choice, just do something for yourself everday. It is the only way to maintain your sanity and be able to do the primary job you've chosen, being a mom. Never let the confines of your family limit your creativity. You may be caught up in the daily grind and soccer mom routine, but take a few minutes to let your creative spirit flow and you will be refreshed.