It's Easter... I get it. If you're into this holiday (for your reference, yes we hunt eggs and baskets in this house), it's a day that was mostly taken up by eating ham and potatoes, and well food. Lots and lots of food. Since I joined in this hideous diet-ruining ritual, I am feeling that dead-weight tiredness that comes with it. So, I'm giving in to a meme. I was tagged by Lisa at Damian Daily.

Feel free to join in the fray... here's the rules:

Go back through your archives and post the links to five of your favorite blog posts. For me, I dug back. WAY back to the beginning. Mostly because none of those posts are labeled/tagged. Why not give a little love to the beginning. You can link to anything in your archive...

Post links about:

1. FAMILY: Life's Little Surprises
   

   When my son was about six months old, I loathed my husband. At first glance I thought it was because I felt tied to my baby--having to nurse him every 2 hours (and for 40 minutes a pop), or that I hadn't slept for over an hour since he had been born, or the fact that I was still working a 40+ hour work week WITH my son at home with me the entire time and no extra help. Or maybe at first glance it was because I was still adjusting to being a mom, being woken up every morning at 5am, or the fact that my family seemed to notice that I was falling to pieces and no one was there to support me." Read full post.
   

2. FRIENDS: Bastardly Friend Am I
   

   "If I didn't have these girls around when I entered high school (or survived it)--I too could now be the drunken chic on a bar stool at home still living with her parents." Full post here.
   
   

3. YOURSELF: Downward Spiral to Fatness
   

   "It is time I just admit it. I'm fat (again). I've struggled with weight ever since I can remember. In my teens I stayed active enough in the summer to keep in the general good side of the weight--and winter brought on the pounds. But when try-outs came for track or cheerleading- I'd buckle down and kill myself for 2 weeks until I was in shape enough to make the cut." Read post here.

   
   
4. SOMETHING YOU LOVE: Time to stop and smell the Daffodils
   

   "Sniff flowers?" He points to the newly bloomed daffodils in the flower bed surrounding the doorway. He leans forward, ever so careful not to fall forward and sniffs. Loud and funny like a toddler would do--to make sure I hear the sniffs. "Flowers smell good Mom."
   Read full post here.

5. ANYTHING YOU CHOOSE: Singing on a Sunday Night
   

   "Tonight I am sitting at my kitchen table, dinner dishes wiped clean and moved to a pile in the sink, laptop open in front of me with the current work in progress staring at me in it un-finished state, and my son--with more than a city of dinosaurs, Disney Toy Story, trucks, cars, and Thomas the Tank Engine figurines spread in front of him--happily serenading me to his favorite song of the day--Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. I've lost count, but I think this is the 12th time he has sang it in a row for me. In between each rendition he continues the story of the characters before him." Full post here.

Post your five links and then tag five other bloggers. At least two of the people you tag must be newer acquaintances in the blogosphere, so that you get to know each other better. [as a side note, I hate tagging. It is like the damn chain letters. But, whatever, maybe someone will respond. I've tagged anyone who might play along]

Tag, you’re it:

1. Mother In Chief
2. Princess of Nebraska
3. Emily Anne
4. Rude Cactus*
5. So the Fish Said*
   

And if I didn't tag you but you want to join in, feel free... it's still fun. Lemme know your Internet Digs address, I'll stop by and learn about you.

* For those that don't know Rude Cactus and So the Fish Said are married. They both blog. And I love them both dearly. Crack me up. Make me realize I am not insane, and either is my marriage.

Labels: Internet, meme

7:26 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

I love laughing. And crying.

I love dancing when no one is watching.

I love myself a venti nonfat white mocha--hot when it's cold, and iced when it's not.

I love (love, love) a good book.

I love long afternoon naps.

I love new underwear. Frilly, fun or otherwise. Throw in a matching bra and I just might find myself sexy.

I love the idea of a week alone in a new place to explore, learn, and grow.

I love lying on my back with a cat at my side purring.

I love writing late into the night, especially when I can sleep in as late as I want the next morning.

Which, brings up another love--sleeping in. I love it more than life itself most days.

I love cheap, sweet blush wine.

I love my cell phone(s).

I love fall.

I love waking up to the smell of coffee.

I love being cooked for. Breakfast in particular.

I love waffles and blueberry muffins.

I love a good roll in the hay (and I mean that figuratively not literally).

I love returning to my old college campus after being away for a long time. Particularly in the fall, fresh into the new year. It reminds me of the past.

I love thinking that I will be famous someday.

I love the idea of publishing my books and sharing my stories with the world.

I love that I do well at my day job. Even though I would give it up in a second if I could afford it.

I love those chocolate brown boots that have broken heels because they were worn so much.

I love hoodies (need I say more?).

I love a good short haircut.

I love my red (really red) hair.

I love singing to loud music in the car when I am driving alone.

I love chocolate covered caramel.

I love walking about in the city.

I love outdoor concerts.

I love feeling like I look spectacular.

I love being the center of attention--in a good way--like winning an award, talking about something you love, being an expert.

I love my Mac powerbook.

I love the sound of raindrops on the rooftop.

I love Halloween, Christmas and Valentines Day.

I love my Sanity Vacation Days I take every now and again. Who doesn't love a day off of work?

I love coffee. Caffeine. And a good iced Pepsi.

I love lasagna with lots and lots of cheese.

I love a good movie that makes me laugh or cry or both.

I love a night alone in the house watching movies, reading, writing, and just being me.

I love to have a clean house.

I love when the laundry is done for me.

I love long, hot showers.

I love those yoga pants I must wear the moment they are clean.

I love putting on clothes fresh out of the dryer.

I love receiving e-mail that isn't spam.

I love finding the perfect shirt/outfit/pants in a store for an event the following week.

I love finding a photo of myself and finding out that I really don't look as bad as I thought I did.

I love the fact that I haven't let my writing fall to the wayside and that I am still pursuing my dream.

I love to dream. And dream big.

I love myself a chocolate malt.

I love feeling a sense of accomplishment.

I love that sometimes I don't have to try very hard and still get a good ole pat on the back for a job well done.

I love green. And pink. And orange.

I love cats. And graphic t-shirts. And new journals. Pens. Lots and lots of pens. Markers. Notebooks. Office supplies in general. Sappy love songs. Club music. Silver jewelry. Hair clips and barrettes that I will likely never wear. And magazines that talk about writing and design and urban houses (like Dwell). I love modern design even though I live in a house full of country inspired pieces. I love being noticed and sometimes fading into the background. I love Jennifer Garner. And Val Kilmer. I love oceans, lakes, and rivers. I love a good nail polish color. And lip gloss. And a foundation that stays on all day long. A good boot. Flip flops. A pedicure. Colorful scarfs and fun quotes.

But most of all, I love me.

* This fun little tidbit was originally thought up by She Likes Purple. Though I only caught wind from Princess Nebraska. The rules are simple:

"I challenge you to make your own list. The only catch? You can't include a single person you know on your list. No "I love the way my husband laughs" or "I love hearing my little girl call for me." It'll be tough, I know. But this particular little exercise is about stripping away everyone who defines you and figuring out what you (not his partner; not their mother/daughter/sister/friend) love."

Labels: Internet, love, me, meme

10:04 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

The rating itself isn't that funny--I mean, it is actually probably quite accurate. But the reasoning for the rating? Well that is hilarious. Apparently the presence of the word Hell (three times) and zombie (once) constitutes parental guidance. I wonder how many times I need to say fuck to get me to an R-rating?

[you know I am kidding right? I mean, I wouldn't swear needlessly just for a more severe parental rating. Would I?]

Labels: blog, fun, Internet, meme

1:35 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

Stole this idea from Lit Soup. I, too, found it completely amusing. Here's how you can do it to:

1. Go to http://www.careercruising.com/
2. Put in Username: nycareers, Password: landmark.
3. Take their “Career Matchmaker” questions.
4. Post the top results.

My results? Coming atcha...
1. Desktop Publisher
2. Cartoonist / Comic Illustrator
3. Fashion Designer
4. Animator
5. Professor
6. Artist
7. Graphic Designer
8. Critic
9. Website Designer
10. Print Journalist
11. Computer Animator
12. Market Research Analyst
13. Medical Illustrator
14. Translator
15. Industrial Designer
16. Craftsperson
17. Potter
18. Communications Specialist
19. Public Relations Specialist
20. Public Policy Analyst
21. Interior Designer
22. Exhibit Designer
23. Clergy
24. High School Teacher
25. Elementary School Teacher
26. Sport Psychology Consultant
27. ESL Teacher
28. Foreign Language Instructor
29. Psychologist
30. Special Education Teacher
31. Director of Photography
32. Special Effects Technician
33. Music Teacher / Instructor
34. Teacher Assistant
35. Sign Maker
36. Computer Trainer
37. Director
38. Actor
39. Early Childhood Educator
40. Motivational Speaker

Ahhh, the fun. The best part. My current career, technical writer, not even on the list. But my childhood dream job (actor) is. And hell, who thought I had it in me to be a Motivational Speaker or Clergy(woman)?

How fun. What my life could be, if, well, I chose a different career.

Labels: career, life, meme

6:30 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Charlene over at crazedparent has been busy. She's challenging her blogging friends and writers (I am not sure which category I fit into yet, but am aiming for friend, but am ALL writer right now), to write for 10 minutes with no editing. That means, set your timer (mine is on my nifty cell phone), put your fingers to the keyboard (or pen to paper), and write. 10 minutes. About her prompt. This week, it's I remember...

I'm late (as usual these days), but I am still joining in the fray. But with one other caveat that Charlene didn't make as her rule. MY RESPONSE to the prompts are all FICTION. That's right. I want to write fiction as a career, and what a better way to practice that part of my creativity. We all know novels have to be written well... but what about the ideas? What about the characters? Plots? They all need freshness. Originality. Oh and a whole bunch of other stuff I just don't practice enough. So this time around. I'm aiming to use these 10 minutes exercises to kill two birds with one stone. Improve my writing by using the 10 minutes to do just that and WRITE. AND to use my imagination and improve my creativity. How do you like them apples?!?!

So here we go. Writing for 10 minutes. Fiction. Made-up fun. Ready. On your mark. Get set. Go!

I remember when I enjoyed sex. The hot, stickiness of the sweat. The animal attraction. The idea that my husband wanted no one but me and was proving it to me with every pounding rhythm into my body. Oh and the spontaneity. In the living room. On the floor. Bedroom. Bathroom. While trying to have a conversation on the phone. Well, it was wonderful once. Until we had the baby. And I wanted nothing more than a few hours of un-interrupted sleep and no hands pulling at my already sore and chaffed breasts.

"Hon?"

It was Dan. He'd just come out of the shower after his workout. He's second work out of today. Even though it was after ten o'clock at night. I'm convinced he's a maniac. I haven't left my pajamas in three days.

"Have you seen my back button down?"

That would be the shirt I ironed this afternoon. After the baby had power puked on it over the changing table only a few hours before. And then I had washed it. And dried it. And then finagled the urchin down for a late nap so I could iron it before Dan graced us with his presence after working a full day at work.

"It's on the chair. By the closet." I pulled the burgundy bead spread closer to my body making sure to tuck it in on each side. The constant breastfeeding chill hadn't left my body since the feeding a whole hour ago.

Dan nodded and headed straight for the chair. Naked.

I know that dampness of his body--well toned body at that--should turn me on. Or at least bring some sort of stirring into my nether-regions. But instead, I am blase. And tired. And most of all, craving sleep. And for every moment Dan prances around the room, getting necessities ready for his morning routine, it is a moment less I can enjoy sleep. And with every minute passing, I am a minute closer to the next nursing routine. Only mine is about fifty-two minutes away now.

"How was baby today?" He grinned tossing the towel into the hamper and sliding the mirrored closed door aside.

"Penny was fine. Corrigable anyway."

His eyebrows furrowed. I couldn't tell if it was from the lack of clean trousers in the closet or at my modest attempt at sounding cheerful (if not humorous).

"She had a little rice cereal today. Has to be the first time she hasn't just spit it out and smeared it on her face."

I carefully left out the details. The part of admitting that she then did spit up the cereal on his new shirt.

Dan nodded, ignorant of the earlier mishap.

It's over! It can't be! I was just getting on a roll too.... I knew it. Charlene was all into this trickery to get me writing again. Well, it worked. And that's fab in my book!

You too can join if you want, just pop on over to crazedparent yourself, and join in the fun. And hey, don't worry about not keeping up, I'm already behind!

Labels: fiction, meme, writing prompt

5:09 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

This has to be a first in mommy writer history, I've been tagged. Officially tagged (not the usual, I saw a meme and was completely sucked try of blog post topics and then posted my answers for your perusal). Who did the deed? Charlene at Crazed Parent.

Here's the tag history (as to provide links to those that started this nicety): Charlene was tagged by CityMama via a virtual cocktail party. And CityMama was invited by Lisa Stone of BlogHer. So let the victual cocktail party continue.....

5 things you don't yet know about me

1. I'm in constant fear people will laugh at me. For a stupid comment. For falling on my face. For looking stupid. The reason doesn't matter really. I am just in constant fear I look like an ass. And then having to face that reality with laughter and pointing.
   
2. I got drunk on wine the day before Christmas Eve (Saturday). Not that this is much of a surprise. Or something to hide. Went out with friends. Family. Had more than a good time. And 2 days of tiredness to prove it. It was all in good fun. And something I haven't done in a long (LONG) time.
3. At one time (long, long ago), I was known as the cheerleader that could do the splits. I know. Seems impossible now with the additional weight. And chunkier thighs. But yes. Junior High. Cheerleading Squad. I was the chic posing in the front, arms in the air, and legs miraculously in the splits. I have yearbooks to prove it.
   
4. Old nicknames: French Frogwoman and Whoopee. No. I. Will. Not. Explain. Either. At least not today. Another post for another time.
   
5. I once visited a guidance counselor at school. I was angry at my mother. I wanted someone to talk to. I wanted to cry. And I wanted to get out of Math class. I got a captive audience, cried my way through an entire box of Kleenex, and got out of a Math homework assignment.
   

And since I don't like to end a party (or leave early), here's my tagged virtual cocktail party list: Beth C., Suzanne, Allison, another Beth (I am partial to the name), and lawmummy.

UPDATE: Looks like I got double-tagged? On the same day no less! Something strange is happening on the blogshere. I am here to prove it! The second tagging happened by Jonathon Kantor over at the White Paper Pundits. Great info here, especially if you are ever thinking of jumping into the freelance waters. And Jonathon? Thanks for the tag! Please don't ask me to disclose 5 more items. I'd be hard pressed to find something of interest. Other than tonight's dinner menu (roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, and a good ole' dinner role).

Labels: me, meme, tag

9:04 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

1. Don't take yourself too seriously. We'll only make fun of you.
2. Hair really does make a woman.
3. We're too hard on ourselves.
4. Pity parties can be the best medicine just invite all your girlfriends.
5. We're all superheroes. We just like to show emotion, not hide it, tights are optional as long as you have a good pair of shoes.
   
6. Always dress for the occasion. Nothing beats a good outfit.
7. Bodily functions are bodily functions. Don't beat yourself up about sharing them with others (unintentionally of course).
8. Self-confidence. Find it. Use it. Relish in it. We spend too much time hiding it.
9. It ain't fun unless you can share it with the gals. Honestly, ever have a secret you are bursting to tell? And for me, it's the most fun to share with the girlfriends. Who can squeal better than that?
10. How to talk for extended hours on the phone. Talking only about the good stuff of course.
    

* This fun meme was pimped from This Fish.

Please feel free to join in the fun. Over at her place, here in the comments, or on your own blog (use HTML to make a link in the comments... I want to read too!).

Labels: girlfriends, me, meme, women

4:42 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Mrs. Chicken over at Chicken and Cheese made an offer: write a piece of a collaborative story via blog posts. I foolishly accepted. And below it is--in all its parts, by all its participants. If you want to join in, go ask her. The more that play, the more fun it will be!

And look! They named the cute kid after me! How thoughtful. Or coincidental. You decide.

Let the story begin....

(by Mrs. Chicken @ Chicken and Cheese)
I thought I saw him at the grocery store. It was raining that afternoon, and he had an umbrella. The red and white triangles that made up his portable shelter partly obscured his face, but I caught a glimpse of his eyes. Those eyes. Huge, blue and empty.

When he left me I remember searching their vast cerulean expanse for some sign, some flicker of love. It rained that day, too. Why does it rain when you lose someone you love? My tears left him unmoved. I don’t know why that surprised me.

The baby kicked in my cart and I let my gaze fall on her face. Her father’s eyes stared back at me. Green eyes, warm and full of life.“Mamma?” she said. “Mamma!”

(by Binky @ 24/7)
The question-turned-exclamation jarred me out of my reverie. There was pressure in my temples and behind the hazel tint of my colored contact lenses. "Mamma's here," I cooed. My voice was a manufactured kind of soothing. I leaned in and brushed a kiss over Bethany's forehead, where a drop of rainwater hung like the tiniest Swarovski pendant. Its chain was made of fine blond locks.

"What do you think, baby girl?" I asked as I pulled her into my arms. "Is it time to go home?" Her searching legs and center of gravity found all the right contours as she settled atop the jut of my hip. I tugged at her coat until the hood framed her face, then I stepped into the rain. A small deluge of water streamed off the curve of the lowercase "o" on the Save-A-Lot sign and landed at the back of my neck. I could feel the tag from my shirt sticking sharp and soggy to my skin.

I sighed against Bethany's face and tried to avoid the bigger puddles on our way to my twenty year old Civic, which was miraculously close. One row over and three cars ahead, I saw a familiar red and white umbrella spanning the gap between an open door and the driver's seat of a rusty 4Runner that had to be as old as my own piece of junk. They guy I'd mistaken for Paul sat sideways and watched the rain as he talked into a cell phone.

(by Tony @ Creative-Type Dad)
Hastily reaching into my purse holding Bethany firmly, I could faintly hear the sound of his voice. His mumbled words were almost too reminiscent of Paul’s. The way he laughed as he said “Gouda” into his plastic phone brought back imagery of the two of us, sitting together last winter on the living room floor, sipping Merlot watching “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous”. Occasionally Paul would jokingly burst out vocabulary in his comedic English accent – expressions like “Don Perignon!” and “Caviar Dreams!” oh, how I loved Caviar and that faux bear skin rug.

With keys finally in hand, stumbling to open the rusty car door, I could sense this stranger's stare against my cheek. His phone chatter abruptly ended and I could hear the sounds of squeaking cowboy boots crushing the wet pavement.

(by Occidental Girl @ The Occidental Tourist)
My mind was suddenly full of so many thoughts vying for my attention at the same time that I couldn't think straight.

It can't be him, I thought, no way. What would I say? What do I look like? What am I wearing???

The answers came in rapid succession: It could be him, it's okay if it's him because I'm not angry anymore; I could talk about my fulfilling life that I've enjoyed since knowing him, like this beautiful child I created with someone else, without him; I look like shit but since I'm too hard on myself in general, I probably look just fine; men - especially Paul - don't notice what women are wearing unless it's nothing at all. Then, they notice.

When you coincidentally encounter someone you loved once, a long time ago, the traitorous mind tends to retrieve only the good memories and leave the battles and frustrations out of it. This leaves us to wonder what in the world we ever thought was wrong and maybe it was a mistake to end the relationship. After all, doesn't every relationship have ups and downs? Ours certainly did. It was passionate, without a doubt, but in every area: the loving AND the fighting. It was when the fighting overtook the loving that we fell apart. I wonder if he ever thought about all of that, even now. Paul didn't seem to notice many thing unless they were stark - naked or otherwise.

And yet, here he was - maybe - coming over to talk after all this time.

I took a deep breath, then turned around.

(by Meg @ Mainely-Megin):

"Hey." He practically whispered.
Oh. My. God.
"Hi." Was it relief or despair?
"I wasn't sure you'd remember me."
"No, I..." Not Paul. Not Paul. Not Paul. Who the hell was it?
"Peter Johnston, I sat behind you in statistics freshman year."

Peter freakin' Johnston. I felt my pulse in my neck, and I focused my breathing the way I had 15 short months ago in labor. Not Paul.

Peter held his umbrella over me and the squirmy Bethany. Idle chat. Wife, 3 kids, new job, just moved into town, wife hasn't met anyone yet. Not Paul. Not Paul. Peter was bursting with the need to share his happiness, which allowed him to simply see an old acquaintance, not someone's former lover plagued by mere memory.

"Dinner sounds great, I'd love to meet Lisa and the kids."

With the baby buckled in and my door as close to closed as it got, I watched Peter close his own door. The rain rushed down the window and distorted the images. It blended the head and brake lights of the cars winding their way through the parking lot.

(by Bethany @ mommy writer):

The seven-thirty hour, the one right after dinner, is always the worst. Waiting for Daniel to come home, feeding and changing Bethany for bedtime, cleaning the kitchen. It's a nuisance and a routine all the same.

That is, until Daniel comes stumbling into the back door in nothing short of drunkeness.

"Hi honey," he chirped balancing himself against the cracked linoleum counter kicking off his shoes, "Sorry I'm late."

When isn't he late?

"S'okay," I look up from the over-used skillet I'd been tackling with a worn Scotch pad for the last 15 minutes, "Had a good time tonight?"

Daniel only tripped past my shoulder to the spaghetti, waiting in the stained Tupperware and fixed himself a plate of dinner.

It's just as well. I didn't have the energy to congratulate him on an obvious vaccuum sale. Not today. The office post-sale drinks in celebration are too habitual, if not an excuse. And it isn't as if he'd just made a commission worth writing home about. It was more like we'd be able to splurge on groceries. Or buy Bethany the expensive diapers.

"This is good," he chewed, spilling sauce to the edges of his lips. The edges I used to adore when he spent more time smiling.

"Bethany went to bed easily tonight," I said more to myself the Daniel. "For once anyway."

Daniel shoveled another tangle of noodles into his mouth. He was either too drunk to realize I was trying engage him in conversation, or plain ignoring me.

I rinsed the pot and placed it beside the sink where the drying rack should be, the one I was too lazy to take from the bottom cupboard. Patting my hands on the stretched blue jeans that hugged my legs for the last two days, I pecked my husband on the forehead and walked towards the bedroom.

Just before leaving the hallway, I called back to him, "Your nemisis, Peter Johnston is back in town. We're having dinner with him, wife, and kids this weekend."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now, it's Heather's turn!

You guys are next:

Christy
Michelle
Mrs. Maladjusted
Kristi
Desitin's Child
Tater And Tot
Word Girl

Labels: blog, meme, writing prompt

7:37 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

You.
Can.
Only.
Type.
One.
Word.
No.
Explanations.

(Cribbed.
From.
Vannessa.
Jaye's.
Place.)

Yourself: tempted.
Your boyfriend/girlfriend (spouse): wonderful.
Your hair: overgrown.
Your mother: humorous.
Your father: patient.
Your Favorite Item: ibook.
Your dream last night: absent.
Your Favorite drink: wine.
Your Dream Car: minicooper.
The room you are in: kitchen.
Your Ex: where?
Your fear: sucess.
What you want to be in 10 years?: novelist.
Who you hung out with last night?: family.
What You're Not?: perfect.
Muffins: blueberry.
One of Your Wish List Items: cruise.
Time: midnightish.
The Last Thing You Did: write.
What You Are Wearing: sweatsuit.
Your Favorite Weather: cool.
Your Favorite Book: paperbacks.
The Last Thing You Ate: cupcake.
Your Life: changing.
Your Mood: ever-changing.
Your best friend: husband.
What are you thinking about right now?: bed.
Your car: vibe.
What are you doing at the moment?: blogging.
Your summer: past.
Your relationship status: married.
What is on your TV?: nothing.
What is the weather like?: snowing.
When is the last time you laughed?: tonight.

Go.
Ahead.
Try.
It.

I.
Know.
You.
Want.
To.

Labels: me, meme

10:37 PM | Permalink | 0 comments