Sunday, February 26, 2006

Caveat Emptor


RIP Don Knotts


"Nip it in the bud." - Barney Fife

"Now Andy, if you let them take thirty, they'll take thirty-five. If you let them take thirty-five, they'll take forty. If you let them take forty, they'll take forty-five. If you... " - Barney Fife


If you hadn't guessed, this post is about credit card debt. Do you know how difficult it is to tie the death of Don Knotts with credit card debt and find appropriate quotes? Well, not very difficult! Mr. Furley was hot.

Sunday Morning reports that us Americans are in the negative for personal saving and in much too much credit card debt. This pisses me off because it's MY generation that has brought this financial scourge upon the land.

It seems like folks my age just don't understand the concept of working toward a goal. Why save a little bit out of a modest paycheck every month? Not when you can whip out your personalized-with-your-own-photo Visa and buy the newest Xbox! I deserve this right NOW! It's amazing they don't sell electronics at drive thru windows.

Oprah is focusing on her viewer's personal finances lately. So is Dr. Pheel. I boggle at the guests they have on their shows. Those who have no idea how far their lines of credit go. Those who have stolen friend's and family member's identities to maintain a false material lifestyle. Those who've mistaken that identity and character doesn't come by way of possessions.

I've been made fun by Gen X-ers for living under my means. When I was asked how I saved money on groceries, I gave the example of buying rice in bulk and broke down the price per serving. (25 lbs of rice, six bucks, breaks down to two cents per serving.) I was told to "enjoy counting grains of rice." Why yes, thanks, I will! I'll also enjoy, god willing, early retirement because we've saved. Cooking is a skill...if you have learned HTML you can learn how to cook a pot of rice. Honest.

Unfortunately those looking for the quick high of the purchase will also look for the quick fix to their debt. This impacts all of us. Though I've taken responsibility it peeves me that I'll still pay for other's whims in some form or another. I don't even get the stinkin' Xbox to show for it.

I know some of you agree with me. If you do, send five dollars to:
The Absent Minded Anti-debt Fund
The Red Garter Casino Parking Lot
Bendover Boulevard
Bendover, NV 90210

God Bless You.

Friday, February 24, 2006

All the cops in the donut shop say...

You know why I'm Mother of the year? (No, not MILF of the year, perverts) It's because I created a totally kickass volcano cake for my son's twelfth birthday, complete with "smoke".


I told my son that on his sixteenth birday I'll just ice the cake with vanilla icing, sprinkle pink sugar on it and call it "pimple cake".

I remember my twelfth birthday. Judy Blume tells us that life begins at twelve. You blow out your birthday candles and suddenly you begin your period and sprout funny hairs. I received my first bra on my twelfth birthday. AA cups, little pink bow in the middle. More straps than cups.

My best friend and I decided, in the midst of our boycraziness, to create a time capsule celebrating our puberties. Included were super secret confessions of the boys we obsessed over, an audio tape of us singing "Walk Like an Egyptian" and my first bra. We carefully sealed these treasures in a cookie tin and buried it in the vacant lot behind my neighbor's house for time and all eternity.

Or at least until 6 or 7 years ago. There is a house built on the lot now. I wonder if they ever dug up our time capsule? And if so, can I get the audio tape back? We so ROCKED.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

It's a Whopper!

Today is my oldest boy's 12th birthday. Happy Birthday Kaelan!

Warning! This post contains descriptive elements of pooping out a baby. If you don't want to read about the juicier bits of childbirth (Which isn't nearly as juicy as the birth story I posted on February 5th) then stop HERE. I done warned you again!

Feb. 22, 1994. I have an OB appointment at noon. The OB wants to see if the baby is growing to gargantuan proportions as I'm three days overdue. I'm not gargantuan however. My legs and arms and face are all skinny...I just look like I stuffed a basketball under my shirt and two more in the back of my pants. I'm nesting. The night before I spent a great deal of time ironing my husband's boxer shorts My contractions had started around ten that morning. Regular and fifteen minutes apart.

At my appointment the doctor decides to send me to the hospital for an ultrasound and a non stress test. My usual OB went on vacation and so his partner sees me. She's doubling up on patients...it's a full moon...and she wants some sort warning how her schedule is going to be for the next 48 hours. My mom goes with me to the hospital. The ultrasound reveals that the baby I'm carrying will weigh close to ten pounds. I curse at the ultrasound technician. I'm hooked up to a monitor for the non stress test. The nurse can see my contractions, now twelve minutes apart. I ask if it's real labor. She says she doesn't know and leaves.

4:00 pm. I'm resting at my parents house after my jaunt to the hospital. They feed me and then they feed me again. We start timing contractions in earnest. When I leave for my own house four hours later my contractions are seven minutes apart. Yes, I was ok to drive. Justin had been sitting at home waiting for me while I ate my parent's food.

8:20 pm. I'm at a Kmart. I need a diaper pail...now. I dunno why I thought I needed a diaper pail, we were going to use disposable diapers. Regardless, I needed one. Pushing my cart around Kmart I rest on the handle every six minutes or so. Other customers are giving me funny looks. I decide to buy a garbage can with a hinged lid instead.

Midnight, Feb. 23. Justin and I decide that since my contractions are steady and five minutes apart, we should go to the hospital. I'm hooked to a monitor for a while to determine if it's really labor. The nurse comments on a large jump on the inkline on the monitor tape and I reply that I'd farted. She laughed at me. They decide it's really labor and I think that this is awesome.

1:00 am. My family arrives. My labor coaches include my Mom, my older sister and my little sister. We walk about the hospital with my sisters and husband dancing behind me. They call it a rain dance hoping my water will break. I inform them that I can pee on them if they like.

4:00 am. Still laboring and trying to sleep. I'm still at 5 to 6 centimeters. The rain dance has worn off a couple hours ago. My older sister farts and it's rank. I contemplate kicking her out for that behavior. I know that I'm not in real serious labor yet because I can still contemplate. That fart is caught on videotape.

6:00 am. Labor is finally getting tough. I tell my mom that it hurts. She understands. My labor is getting too intense for Justin withstand in a concious state so he excuses himself. Better that than a passed out husband.

6:45 am. My replacement doc arrives. She'd been up all night delivering babies. Mine will be number five for her. She checks me and I'm at eight centimeters. Progress is slower than she'd like and I'd like so we decide to break my water in a little while. She leaves to take care of paperwork.

7:00 am. Doc comes back to break my water. Even after the last hour of hard labor that is the most painful experience so far. During the procedure I bite my Mom. After breaking my water the doc announces that I'm complete. She takes off to nap while I push. I don't half blame her. If you compared us side by side at that moment she looked twice as tired as I did.

7:30 am. I've been pushing and pushing. My Dad arrives to watch the birth. He'd been nervous about asking if he could watch so my Mom asked for him. Geez, I didn't care who saw. Someone should bring the vegetable tray. My older sister calls her boss from the phone next to my head to excuse herself from work. He can hear my moaning and screeching! Why that was considered funny I don't know. I'm feeling betrayed because my Lamaze class instructor told us that we'd only have to push to a count of 7 and the nurse wants me to push to a count of 10.

The doc comes in to check on my progress. She tells me to give it a good hard push so the baby can move past the cervix. Done and done. She announces my cervix is "gone". I jokingly ask, "What? I lost my cervix?"...The doc looks at me and then realizes it was a joke. I'm half delirious and I'm joking about my cervix...

8:00 am. I'm tired of pushing. I know I'm close but dammit, I'm not going to stretch anymore. I request, rather loudly, that the doc give me an episiotomy and she complies. It instantly relieves the bulk of my pain. On the videotape the doctor's arm blocks the snip and you can hear my gasp of relief. Yup, there is evidence of my crotch on film.

8:10 am. Kaelan Blake is finally born. That moment when the head finally pops through is glorious and relieving! He's squawling and pink and dark headed. Everyone is teary except me. I wanted some breakfast.

After all that labor the kid only weighs 6.12 and is 18 inches long. The ultrasound technician was way off. I can't imagine the stitches I would have gotten if she was spot on. I'm glad we videotaped that delivery...the look on Justin's face when he holds his son for the first time makes me cry every time I watch it.

Kaelan is my active boy. He is always thinking around corners and a mile away from any box. He loves computers and is currently doing a lot of chores to earn money for his own. I'm noticing girls already appreciating his dark good looks...he's black haired and olive skinned. He's concerned with justice and the happenings in the world. He dislikes Bush, lol.

Happy Birthday Kaelan. It's an understatement to say that we know you will make a great mark on the world with your creative, technical thinking. And yes, you can have Burger King for your birthday dinner.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Gesundheit

I just sneezed...bless me.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Midol Anyone?

Fair warning...I'm PMS-y and I'm not happy about it.

It's a good thing I'm regular to a fault. I at least recognize my crankiness for what it is rather than blame it on the unsuspecting and mostly innocent.

The worse PMS I ever suffered (or made everyone suffer) occurred when I was 17 and we were on a family vacation. All in all it was a very relaxing vacation! Dad, Mom, lil sis and I took a road trip with the RV up through Idaho, onto Montana and then into Canada. We took our time and if we wanted to stop and see something we did. We got opals in Idaho, buffalo jerky in Montana, cooties at every KOA...and I picked up a nasty case of PMS in Canada.

I'm not blaming Canadians. I could, but I'm not.

My Dad, oh poor naive parent, told me to stop being so cranky. That wasn't met with any sort of gratitude on my part. I took that Hallmark moment to loudly blame Dad for my PMS. It was Dad's fault because it's the male of the human species that determines gender when sperm meets up with egg and all that biology. It was his fault that Mom conceived a girl and GIRLS GET PMS! I seem to recall that I rendered my Dad speechless with that line of bullshart.

PMS doesn't make one logical.

Dad let me snooze all through Canada. It was safer that way. I apologized for my snarkiness later. I'm told that Glacier National Park is a lovely thing to see, but I wouldn't know.

I just pulled my cat out of my kitchen garbage. It is not going to be a fun day.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

I am absolutely not going to do anything.

Since this weekend is dedicated to laziness in it's most unadulterated form, I'm posting an image. Images are worth a thousand words, right? Good, because I'm too lazy to type. Or to think. Or to think while I'm typing.

This is the best from google image searching the term, "bum". As in, "I'm a lazy bum." Enjoy.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Electric Pussyland

In my previous post I realized that the description of my cat can be taken as a bigotted slur. I'll quote myself so you don't have to scroll down. You may thank me for saving you some scroll wheel carpal tunnel.

"Putting the couches in different spots has confused my cat. I don't expect much out of him, he's a dumb gay cat."

The slur presented here is that I claim my cat is dumb. He could very well be a very intelligent cat but he's so lazy who'd know? I've insulted the dumb folk out there. I apologize for that.

Saying that my cat is gay isn't a slur. That's undisputed truth. My tomcat likes other tomcats. He likes likes tomcats. All last week he yowled by the sliding glass door in the middle of the night because his favorite siamese boyfriend was prancing about our backyard. No, I'm not letting you out you dumb cat, you'll wake the neighbors and then they'll throw their beer cans in the backyard.

***

Yesterday I got a wild hair and rearranged my furniture. All by myself. I've got muscles...grrr!

When you rearrange the furniture and all the damned things that require electricity, you have to carefully plan where to put your decor. Proximity to outlets is of the upmost priority. Afterall, you can't watch The Price is Right when you haven't got an outlet to plug the TV into.

You can't just plug in the TV either. You have to plug in the VCR, DVD, Direct TV receiver, the surround sound system and a lamp. This is why it's necessary for the conscientious housewife to have several of February's Bestest Housewifely Doodad.



The powerstrip.

Note the three prong receivers. Two prong receivers are for wimps.

I've coddled my inexpensive Wallyworld variety electronics with surge protection as well as extended my electrical outlet oomph! (Hey now, no "A Christmas Story" words of warning! I won't plug in too much stuff at once! I have batteries for the really important appliances.)

Powerstrips come in several bland colors, load capabilities and price ranges. Mine have little hooky thingies on the back so I can hang them securely on my wall. This makes plugging stuff in behind furniture a little less headachey.

Thank you powerstrip, I like you, I really like you.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

I'm in the mood for love.

I've read a great deal this warm fuzzy holiday about how Valentine's day was created just to sell stuff no one wants. Do I need another card? More chocolate? Another diamond and emerald studded pair of thong underwear? Nah...

Justin and I are warm and fuzzy everyday! Want proof? Just look into our shower drain. Really, he is my best friend and as well as my husband. He pays my bills. He's a great guy who knows daily that I think he's a great guy. Seeing him naked is a plus.

So, I spent the day rearranging my family room furniture. I did take a break to pick up some extraordinarily tasty mexican food. Putting the couches in different spots has confused my cat. I don't expect much out of him, he's a dumb gay cat.

So, dear readers and other hangers on, Happy Valentines Day. Justin and I created this little graphic just for you. Mwah!

Monday, February 13, 2006

Do you know what's awesome?

...heading to the casino with a twenty and two five dollar bills to have a mini vacation from two of your three sons, playing with that money on one particular penny slot machine for over two hours and finally deciding to leave when you hit a $440 jackpot. That's what's awesome.

and...

...deciding not to cook and using your winnings to take the family to buffet. Then you learn that all four of your buffet meals have been comped. That's what's awesome.

and...

...talking to a 50ish woman during dinner who admired my baby. She was wearing a red and black leather studded jacket with matching miniskirt and red low boots. She was sporting a rather choppy grey mohawk in which she enhanced with a tattoo at the back of her head. She also had grown a tail behind her right ear which was so long she could sit on it. I wish I had my camera because she knew what she looked like and loved every second of it and that's what's awesome.

Parts of that lady live in me. I don't have urges to go punk rocker, but I have dark gothy urges that I sometimes explore. You'd never think that the nice housewife at the buffet wearing the sage green cashmere sweater was a lil freak would'ya?

Friday, February 10, 2006

Miss Cleo or is that Miss Oleo?

I'd like to toot my own horn a little bit. I am the possessor of many valuable talents! Besides being humble, I can sew and cook and wash underpants and I have psychic abilities.

Yes, I am your psychic friend.

I can't exactly channel any dead people. I'm sorry about that. What I can do is foretell the future! Let me give you some examples of things I've predicted with uncanny accuracy.

1. I predicted the unfortunate end of the Newlywed's marriage when Jessica Simpson questioned her tuna. It has come to pass.
2. I predicted marital troubles between Britney and Kevin upon hearing of their Pimp and Ho wedding. It has come to pass.
3. I predicted that Dubya would come forth with terrorist foiling successes when the NSA scandal erupted. It has come to pass.
4. I predicted that the "Rachael", Jennifer Aniston's famous hairdo, would fall from fashion the day after every woman got the cut. It has come to pass.

I can see you sitting there, with one eyebrow raised, doubting my abilities! Well, Thomases, let me make a prediction right now...

Sixteen years from this time I will have a young lady in my home. She will be very fond of my youngest son. In an effort to bestow comraderie and fellowship with her I will show her this photo:


And then my son will be embarrassed because we will compare his infant bum to his teenaged bum.

Doubt no more. It shall come to pass.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

I Got Nothin'

I've been revamping my costume site. I'm fairly sure the details of this process are just about as exciting as me trying to tell you in my January 26th post about cleaning and reorganizing my sewing areas. When you clean and reorganize a website there is a lot less dusting involved. Also, you don't spill your sewing pins on the floor.

All of you except Mike scored very low yesterday's pop quiz because Mike is the only one that took it. Shame! Mike gets an A. Your homework is to go to the library and find a book that will explain puberty to preteens and read it thoroughly. No, you may not stop by the shelf of National Geographics and giggle at the tribe-women's toplessness. Book reports are due a week from today. Extra points if you can work in the word "knockers" five times.

Would someone stop Kevin Federline from breeding please? Forshizzle.

Here, have a kitten.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

A Lesson in Anatomy

Study these brightly colored and well drawn diagrams I stole from someone's site. There may be a pop quiz later.




Do you think the redness indicates irritation? Meh, I dunno...onto the lesson.

For the many years that I've been conversing with folks on the internets I've had the pleasure of coming across grown people who haven't the faintest idea the anatomy of the reproductive organs. Let me give you some examples.

1. I've run into not one but two men who believed that women passed urine through their vaginas.
2. A man that is adamant that his wife goes to her doctor for a prostate checkup yearly.
3. A man that is sure that the clitoris is also the urinary opening.
4. A man that proclaimed that his wife couldn't possibly be going through menopause because she had her tubes tied several years ago.
5. A man that did questionable things to a tomato.

This anatomical ignorance makes you wonder if that popular urban myth about the couple visiting their doctor/priest/couples counselor complaining about the inability to conceive (because they hadn't realized they hadn't achieved penetration) has a basis in truth.

Lemme tell you...you do no one any favors if you don't know how your bits work or how your partner's bits work. If you are an expert on how bits work, email me privately later, wink wink.

When I was a young, newly married mother I had a freshly engaged friend who absolutely refused to use hormonal based birth control. This was because her doctor wanted to perform her first pelvic exam and pap schmear before prescribing it. Oh the embarrassment! I tried to explain to the blushing bride that if she got pregnant that a doctor would definitely be looking thoroughly at her crotch and sticking lots of things up there, but she would hear none of it. Honestly lady, the docs won't laugh at your orifices until after you leave their offices.

There is no reason to be embarrassed or ignorant about the functions of your genitalia! Forgetful about their functions maybe...but not ignorant! I guarantee you will not go to hell if you find the clitoris. Your first step in finding it is going to a library and checking out a human sexuality text.

So...pop quiz.

1. T or F -- The female urethra can be found inside the vagina, which is why women leak urine when they sneeze when they are knocked up.

2. Breasts are:
A) A reproductive organ...they seem to be all over.
B) Genitalia, men have penises and women have boobies.
C) A fun hobby.

3. A woman's prostate is located where?

4. The bigger a man's nose and feet, the bigger his _________?


These will be graded on accuracy and the ability to concisely express knowledge. Anyone caught cheating will receive an automatic failing grade.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Meh, who cares about the stupor bowl.

Today is my middle boy's seventh birthday. Happy Birthday Alec!

Warning! This post contains descriptive elements of pooping out a baby. If you don't want to read about the juicier bits of childbirth then stop HERE. Remember, I warned ya.

February 4th, 1999. I'm TIRED. Even though I'm not due for another two weeks I know my body isn't going to take much more of this. My apartment is a complete and utter wreck. I keep waiting for the nesting urge to hit me like a garbage truck, but all the while the garbage keeps piling about me. I've put 75 lbs on my 115 lb frame. Maternity pants do not come in long inseams. Technically you can't be highwatering when all you do is lay down. Other than the fatigue my pregnancy has been normal.

11 pm - I decide to sleep. I've spent two months on the couch because I have to sleep in a semi sitting position. The baby likes to lounge around on my spine, not that you could tell that was the case from looking at the beachball shoved under my shirt. Justin kisses me goodnight and retires alone to our bedroom.

The juicy bits are coming...don't get so impatient! Sheesh people!

February 5th, 1:30 am. My impending son begins jumping up and down on my cervix. Actually, I'd received a very hard definite kick. This kick wasn't a normal baby, WTF are you doin in there, type of kick...it was HARD. It wakes me. In the moment I wake I feel a definite pop "down there" and then a gush. My water has broke. "Awesome!" I think as I run to the bathroom holding my crotch with my hand, much like a four year old in front of a water fountain. As if I could hold that in.

Sitting on the john catches most of the gush. Boy am I relieved. The baby is coming! I'm done being pregnant! I've been too tired to pack a hospital bag! Well, poop... I'd never seen what breaking the water looked like so I look down past my highwater maternity pants into the toilet bowl. Bright red...bright bright red. OK, not normal.

"Justin, we need to go to the hospital right NOW", I scream. That's when my labor starts. Contractions coming hard two minutes apart. It takes around ten minutes to call Justin's grandma (who would be watching my oldest), my parents (my mom is my labor coach), and to put shoes on my oldest boy. I manage to remember a towel to sit on in the car. I thank the gods that my highwater maternity pants are an annoying shade of red and won't stain.

While driving the fifteen miles to the hospital it's decided we will not have time to stop at Grandma's and drop off the oldest.

The nurses saw me in the parking lot of the hospital in obvious hard labor. They help me into the building. I ask for an epidural even though I was very much against having one. Immediate transition labor does that to a person. The nurse helps me into a hospital gown. I ask if she's ever seen a woman in labor so messy. She says yes with a great big grin. I'm not reassured. The nurse checks me and I'm measuring 6 centimeters dilated. I ask for my mother. I never get the epidural.

Within fifteen minutes I relay the very important info that I must push...NOW. I'm checked again and I'm fully dilated. Hey, I wasn't hyperventilating, there really was no rest between contractions. The nurse changes the large pad under my butt. My doctor had been called and was on her way. The nurse tells me to pant and try not to push. Hey lady, you pant and try to hold in explosive diarrhea. Suddenly a nurse shoves her entire hand up my nether regions. The baby's heartrate was falling and she was manually stimulating him. This was A-OK with me as, strangely, it took away much of my pain. I tell the nurse that her fisting action feels good...I wish I could have been more coherent and said what I meant, that it was pain relieving. The nurse looks at me funny while she calls in the emergency room doctor.

The baby moves down before even the emergency doc has arrived. I'm alone. My OB hasn't arrived, my parents haven't arrived, Justin's walking my oldest around the hospital. The emergency room doc barges in the room without so much as a hello and positions himself between my legs. Funny, I have to pay him for this privilege. I push. The doc tells me to hold the push and he gives me a lil snip. I push again.

2:43 am. Alec Lachlan is born after two pushes. He's a gorgeous shade of deep purple. The good folks in the nursery go about reviving my boy. He doesn't cry for the longest time. I've got too much adrenaline coursing through my system to process what this means. Finally he cries and then he's rushed off to the nursery where I was told (several months later) that he had to be revived again.

My parents and doc arrive. My placenta gets a good poking and prodding. It's determined that I'd suffered a partial placental abruption. I am very fortunate in three ways...that this happened in late pregnancy, that the placenta didn't tear and that my water had broke instead of me bleeding into the amniotic sac. My parents go to the nursery to gawk at the baby. Justin turns the corner and learns that in the forty minutes we'd been at the hospital his second son was born.

4 am. After receiving a hell of a lot of stitches in areas no one should be sewn up, I get up to go to the nursery and gawk at my baby. Except for seeing his lovely regal purpleness, I had no idea what he looked like. I'm feeling GOOD. At that moment I had more energy than I've had in months. My baby is small, and pink and breathing well under the oxygen tent and responding very well to the glucose through the IV. He's also blond. What? BLOND? Justin is darkheaded, I'm darkheaded. My firstborn is darkheaded. I give birth to a blondie. My OB remarks on me being up and I say I feel very good. Alec is 6 lbs. 3 oz. and 19 inches long.

2 pm. I've eaten and slept. My new baby is brought to me. He's perfect and healthy. I'd prayed much of the night and someone up there winked at me. We settle into nursing and he sucks the hell out of me for the next hour. I know he'll be just fine from that moment on. I still feel very good and the rest of my recovery is short and sweet. The upside of an hours worth of labor is that there is less wear and tear on mom. I recommend short labors to anyone.


Alec is my laid back guy. He's an incredible little tender heart who was considerate enough to skip the terrible twos. Though he didn't talk until well past the age of three, he's incredibly intelligent and is well past grade level in his first grade class. He enjoys drawing and games and puzzles. He's still blond, but now a dirty dishwater shade. At the moment he's missing his front teeth.

Happy Birthday Alec. I hope you will always know how much we appreciate the gift you gave us in becoming your parents.


Friday, February 03, 2006

Sit down in my thinkin' chair...and think...and think...and think...

Now that my middle child is in school full time, I've missed watching children's programming on Nick Jr. all....day....long. I'm fairly sure the absence of green screen animation in my life has been the reason my acne has cleared up. I figure I've got two more years before I have to be exposed to it again.

Nick Jr. changed for the worse in 2001. That is when the scourge came.


It's name is Joe. Joe has no testosterone. In 2001 the host of Blue's Clues, Steve, left for "college" and his little brother Joe moved in so the green screen wouldn't be lonely.


The problem with this is that Steve was HOT. Nick Jr. was tolerable because Steve was cavorting about in those form fitting khaki slacks. You looked at Steve and you knew, with unabashed housewifely assuredness, that the man had kink. There was nothing he wouldn't do for a graham cracker and a spoonful of peanut butter. Steve, you bad bad boy... C'mere, yer my daddy.

Joe...ah...Joe...the grin ruins the fantasy.

He sure do have a perty mouth.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Puxsatawny Phil is a furry little weenie.

Six more weeks of winter my ass.

I hate snow.

When I was attending Southern Utah University I had the pleasure of paying my money for an enviromental science class. The class was titled "Advanced Sewing Techniques". The professor loved winter and loved snow and LOVED skiing. Needless to say we got along as well as oil and water. I did like the woman, really...even though she didn't understand that I didn't want to sew clothing to be worn traipsing around the great outdoors. Polar Fleece is not a lifestyle.

Her hobbies naturally divided the class into two factions. Snow Lovers and The Unworthy of Consideration Because You Don't Like Winter. The first noticeable divide came when I declared, unprovoked, that I disliked snow. A fellow classmate, a young man who loved snow so much he'd marry it, asked me why in the hell I lived in Utah then? I replied that, amazingly, Utah had good warm weather in the summer. I did not pull an A out of that class.

One of the reasons I like living where I live, in Nevada right on the Utah border, is that we get cold weather but we don't get much snow. We do not own a windshield scraper or a snow shovel. A couple weeks ago four inches or so came down in big fluffy wet flakes which melted by the end of the evening. This is normal for us snow-wise. This winter has been odd in that we didn't have days on end where there was no snow but horesfrost which covered everything in thick glittery layers.

I'm so ready for spring and green weather and wearing shorts. I vowed that I'd lose this pregnancy weight and be back into my shorts by summer and darn tootin', I'm almost there! Since December I've lost three inches off my waist and two from my hips and about nine from my chest. No, I haven't measured to see how many inches I've lost (or is it gained?) from my head.

I should sew groundhog sized bikinis.

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