Monthly Archives: November 2007

Protected: The music died

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Taste the Tragedy

Thanksgiving Day, National Day of Gluttony, Food Addicts Not-So-Anonymous Day, the one day when I won’t get frowned on for stuffing my face beyond human capacity. The smell of free-range happy-turkey (happy until it died, that is), basting in butter and drippings, wafts through my home, mingling with the aroma of cinnamon-dusted fresh-baked apple pie and apple and walnut stuffing. The promise of lolling, righteously stuffed, on my friends’ couch and falling asleep to the sound of some silly football game.

And I’m sick. When I eat, I throw up. Can you even begin to grasp the utter tragedy?

Happy damn Thanksgiving.


I got my license in the mail. It’s very official looking. I started school again, too. I’m learning sports massage to start. It’s a little tricky with a broken foot, but I’m getting by.

Rocky and Mama Conversation of the Day:

Me [during a quiet moment]: I love you as high as the moon. I love you as wide as the sky. I love you as deep as the ocean. I love you as round as the earth.

Rocky [patting my breasts]: I love you as far as your nukins.


Last night friend of mine wisely asked me to consider what has been good in the last year. I had to think about it for a minute, because as we all know negative events and emotions generally overshadow positive. But I came up with a few right there, and more kept occurring to me long after my little potluck dinner was over. I kept coming up with them, even after I lay down to sleep.

I woke up this morning and looked in the mirror, to admire my freshly-dyed hair. I dyed it dark brown yesterday, but left the gray streak in the front alone. I noticed all my wrinkles, which a friend named for me (“we’ll name this one ‘breach baby’, this one ‘heart surgery’ . . . “). I put on a little mascara. Then I got dressed and had my day.

That’s all. Happy Birthday to Me.

Conversations with a 3 Year Old, Part 566

“Does it hurt to put earrings in?”
“No, but it does hurt to get your ears pierced.”
“What does it feel like?”
“It feels like getting a shot.”
“Did it hurt to get married?”
“. . . Uh, no . . . “
“What did it feel like?”
“Well, it felt . . . wonderful.”

Of course, Rocky, sometimes it hurts to BE married.

The types of conversations I have with my Dad

Dad: I had such a good time at dinner the other night. I really like your friends.
Me: They’re good folks.
Dad: Really nice gals. I could get a crush on any of them. [He says this in his sweet, jokey way]
Me: They’re not so much into apparatus, Dad.
Dad: Oh, I can’t blame them.
Me: Of course, there’s nothing wrong with a little apparatus every now and then.
Dad: Oh. Well!
Me: Or a big apparatus!

Protected: Freud for Babies

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