World Day of Action

One thing I try to never do here, is voice my political opinions.  Well, there is this one story that I've been meaning to tell you about - when Miss Lucy and I bumping into Mitt Romney, in a hotel lobby in New Orleans during the last presidential election.  Miss Lucy was wearing her OBAMA bandanna.  The gasp heard from the crowd was priceless.

And there is this other story - about how I made my own OBAMA buttons and hand delivered them in 6 different states.   One of them was mailed to a friend in Hawaii and hand delivered to Senator Inouye.  He wore it at a democratic convention (see Steve's Inauguration Travel Log).

that's my button!  the smaller one, under the bigger one

But I'll save those stories for another day.  Today I am heading into the city to meet my dear Monkey Girl friend and her friend.  I'll also be swinging by Time Square to take part in a massive convergence in solidarity.  Today, as most of you know, is World Day of Action.

There will be music, performances and a big message - that the people of this country, not the banks, not corporate american - hold the true power.

Because I'm opinionated, bossy, and do not handle direction or barricades well (see story Whats Wrong With Me), I realize there is a slight chance that I might get arrested.

To prepare for this possibility, I gave the cat her catnip, shaved my legs, and put on Spanx. I wonder if laptops are allowed in the slammer?

So, if I don't post for a day or two or 20, don't worry.  I am fine.  I'm with my people - my outspoken, I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore, people.

Today, I'll be joining thousands of you, in hundreds of cities across the country, in support of this movement.  For me, once again, its about HOPE and a new vision for the future.

Together we are the tipping point.  

Looking Forward

Today I'm supporting my fellow bloggers by participating in a blogfest. Originally, I thought this meant free booze, live music, and pretty lights. I was wrong.  

I've agreed to visit all of the sites listed HERE.  At the moment there are 226 bloggers are on the list.  I'm number 160.

I need to start reading the fine print (simple directions) before I agree to something.

226 blog sites to visit and 20,162 unread messages thanks to the new iphone software - its going to be a very busy day!

I've also agreed to recommend three bloggers.  

Here they are in no particular order.... drum roll please!

1.  Green Monkey Tales - That's right, shameless self promotion. If you click on the link it will take you to yesterdays post. This is my idea of a bitchfest.  

2.  Kitty Howard - love her name.  She blogs stories gained through life experiences.  Some are good.  Some not so good.  But she is thankful for both.  (oops, what I meant was some of her life experiences are good and some are not so good.  ALL her stories are good)

3.  Alices Reprieve - Because its beautiful here.  Alice is learning about what really matters most in life.  For Alice that means, faith, hope and most important LOVE.  

And one more for good luck, EMPTY WHITE PAGES.  I met Sarah Pearson at the Insecure Writers Support Group but she's got nothing to be insecure about.  She is also on a publishing path.  And like me, she's made the time to write and has run out of excuses.  If she lived closer (she's in the UK) I'd show up on her doorstep with a basket full of cheese, wine and maybe a kitty or two.  

Okay...now, back to me.  More MONKEY please!

Because so many of you have supported my joy of writing over the past two years, I have a secret to share.  No...this is NOT about the Tea Party.  This is a TOP SECRET BEAUTY TREATMENT.   Promise me you'll tell everyone!

As always, thank you for reading and commenting.   

In your own unique way, you're each helping to make me a better writer.  

MonkeYme

I Have a Hammer and a Veggie Pizza

I had too much sleep last night. When this happens my mind wakes me up with a nightmare. Today's nightmare involved my former mother-in-law who died a year and a half ago.  In the dream her only son, (husband #2) is crying on her bossism.  She tells him not to worry, that she will take him to purgatory to get a new wife. "That's where I got Shannon!" he cries. When they realize I am in the room my deceased, former mother-in-law shouts, "go back to purgatory you vial creature!" then adds, "and while you're there learn how to spell!"

Here in Glenville, Connecticut (also known as the Gateway to New England) autumn is in full bloom. I imagine how lovely it would be if only we had an ordinance against campaign signage. Have you ever voted for a candidate based on a sign you saw on someones front lawn? Well... I am about to. I'm going to vote for Stephen NG for Town Clerk because he doesn't have a vowel in his last name.

(crossing the road to take this picture I slipped on a dead squirrel)

With autumn leafs falling I am reminded...

Can we please make leaf blowing illegal. Nothing annoys me more. Maybe Mr. NG will know someone, who knows someone, who can make that happen. Or, is there someone out there that can invent one that isn't deafening?  And while you're at it, how about inventing a sprinkler system with a built in barometer so you don't water the grass while its raining. 

I spent 3 1/2 hours today uploading, installing and activating the new iOS software for my iphone. Not only did this make my phone slower, but it uploaded archived emails from 4 of my email addresses and marked them as new. The envelope icon says I have 596 unread messages but when I delete a bunch, I get a bunch more. (UPDATE... I now have 24,697 unread messages to clear) And worse, I can't activate my CLOUD. I was never interested in the CLOUD until now - now that I can't activate it.

A new gym opened near my office. It's for women only. The personal trainers are men only.  Its a small space, with two large windows in the front. In the windows are the treadmills. Directly across the street is a three story office building with 429 male employees. The chance of me "working out" here is ZERO.  I'd feel like a puppy in a pet store.

 
A few doors down from the gym is a new restaurant called DOPPIO.  I'm sorry but thats a stupid name and I'm not going in there either.

I grabbed takeout Chinese food for lunch today.  My soup was cold, my chicken was dry, and my fortune cookie read...

(update)

BITCH OVER

Thanks to JELLY!  

what a great share...

NEVER mind...
The BITCH is BACK

Thursdays is pizza night.
I order my usual - a whole wheat salad pizza (guiltless pizza)
"no olives" I remind her
"there are no olives on the veggie pizza" she tells me
I bit my tongue... decided not to remind her that 3 weeks ago I got olives on my pizza.
35 minutes later the pizza arrives at our front door.
It's a veggie pizza
nothing but onions, mushrooms, EGGPLANT (gag), and peppers.

I ordered a salad pizza, she heard veggie pizza.
When she repeated my order back to me, I was so focused on "no olives"
that I didn't hear her say veggie.



10:33 pm UPDATE
'cause I'm drinkin'...
meet the man with no vowels

 "NG cries FOUL!"  (oh the scandal!)

Ladies Room Man

Is it okay for a man to use the ladies room?

Yesterday, I stood outside a locked, single occupancy, ladies room at Starbucks.  After a considerable amount of time a man exited.

Because I have no filter I asked, "Did you leave your balls at home today?"  

He chuckled and casually walked away.

When I entered I noticed two things - the baby changing table was open and an XLERATOR 2000 hand dryer had replaced the old paper towel machine.   This GreenSpec approved, patented technology dries hands completely in less than 10 seconds.  It's efficient yes, but loud.

Afterwards, I took my place in the latte line - behind the ladies room man.

As he handed the cashier his money I added, "I don't know what bothers me more, the fact that you used the ladies room or that you didn't bother to wash your hands."

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

is it okay for a man, 

dressed as a man, 

with no children in tow, 

to use a single occupancy 

ladies room?  

Clearing Out My Clutter

The last thing he said to me was "stick that in your pipe and smoke it you fat ass bitch" and that's why I wore a double layer of Spanx to his funeral.

***

I regret not seeing him before he died. Of course, I didn't know he was going to die. I don't think he knew he was going to die either. I've been writing about him for the past four days but other than that opening line, it's not flowing and I can't get it right.

To clear my mind, I've decided to take Julianna's lead at Surviving Boys and focus on some of the random clutter that's going on inside my head.  Most of it is silly.

Someone found their way to my blog by googling BIRD GENITALIA.  Who in their right mind wants to look at bird genitalia?  And why would a search engine point in my direction?  Sure, I did a post that included some BIRD PORN but it didn't take them there.  It took them to a post called THE DANCE.  Yes, there were some pictures of men's cocks in that post but no bird cocks.  No birds appeared anywhere in this post. The whole thing is bizarre!

Should I change my profile picture from this...

to this?

The one I am using now is about 5 years old and I don't have that hat anymore. Am I misrepresenting myself by using that cowgirl, Burning Man picture?  Should I stick with something that represents the blog more then it does me - be more incognito?

Can a man be bi-curious and not be gay?  Why do some men deny their true sexuality?  Is it possible to deny your sexuality and live a satisfying, joyful life?   

And...

Can a woman be bi-curious and not be gay?  YES 

Why do women deny their true sexuality?  FEAR

Is it possible to deny your sexuality and live a satisfying, joyful life?  I can't speak for others but for me, I would not feel satisfied if I did not honor my sexuality.  Sex is too important to me.  

I recently noticed that a very practical friend of mine owned a pair of non-practical shoes - Jimmy Choo's to be specific.  They are gorgeous but for the life of me I can't understand how women balance in them, let alone walk in them. 

There is a woman I see at Starbucks almost every morning.  She's probably my age but she's so well preserved that she looks 10 years younger.  She dresses impeccably, stands tall, and always wears heels.  I imagined she kicked them off the minute she got in her car - only wearing them for short spurts.  Well, she proved me wrong.  The other day I caught her running to the train in 4 inch heels.  How do women run, stand, strut, in heels for long periods of time? And I for one want to see what her feet look like naked.  

For the past several weeks, I have been conducting a survey in hopes of turning it into a blog post.  I have been asking random men if they would rather be tall and bald or short with a full head of hair.  Tall is defined as 6 ft or more.  Short is defined as 5'8" or less.  So far, 100 % of the men I asked claim they would rather be tall and bald.  

REALLY? 

My next question will be for the ladies.  Would you rather be with a man who is tall and bald, or short with a full head of hair?   

I think TALL is overrated.  I would pick a man with hair any day! But all the important men in my life have been 5'8 or under.  And I love running my fingers through a man's hair.    

I am a member of a Secret Tea Party and it's a blast.  No...Tea Party is not code for anything.  A tea party is exactly that - a TEA PARTY!  Initially, we kept it secret so that people who weren't invited would not feel left out but its evolved into so much more then that.  By keeping it a secret we can share our deepest secrets and our secrets are juicy good!

If I change everyone's names and the location I can tell you about it.  So far, there are 6 random women in our group.  None of us have anything in common other than once sharing a ...... (hmmm... too much information) lets just say, we have nothing in common and we are learning about each other as we go along.  Our last tea party was Saturday.  I have not had that much fun in very, very long time.  No alcohol was involved.  We didn't need it.  Food was involved.  It was delicious!  And yes, there was plenty of tea.    

Well, thats it for today dear friends.  I'm heading into the city, I'm late, and its gorgeous out! Think I might treat myself to a pair of big girl shoes, my favorite crab cakes and a glass of chardonnay.    

Cheers!  Shannon

To link in your Random thoughts click HERE

7 Seconds of Bliss

At the conclusion of my last post I promised to return by Friday, at the latest, with something funny.  

Well its Sunday, I'm late.  I have a few stories to tell but my head is stuck in some heavy stuff as the result of my friends death.  

In a desperate attempt to hold your attention, I am reposting 7 Seconds of Bliss.  It first appeared in July of 2010.  

Because I am a deserving member of THE INSECURE WRITERS GROUP, I've tweaked it.  Interestingly, I took a lot out.  I used to try to stretch my work but I'm learning that less is more.  And because ongoing life experiences force growth, I've updated it.

7 Seconds of Bliss

Let's pretend that this is me. 

For the past 9 years the end of summer is reserved for Burning Man preparation.

Figuring out what to wear is half the fun.  I'm NOT one of the naked ones.  I make a lot of my costumes.  I start with a fun fabric and see where it takes me.  No patterns or logic required. The more outrageous the better.

This year I fell in love with a pair of pants I found on Etsy.  A ruffled, "forgiving" stretch pant.

The seller labeled them "fun and flattering" and I believed her.

When I can't locate the fabric online or in the city, I order the pants on Etsy.

The following day, the seller emails me asking for my waist and hip measurements. I wait for a "less bloated" day but when that day doesn't come, I dig out the tape measurer.

Alone in the house, I close the curtains, dim the lights and lock the bedroom door.

I am instructed to give my hip and waist measurements.  I know my waist is smaller so I start there. 

I am pleasantly surprised by what I find.  Not only am I capable of reaching allll the way around my waist, but with a measurement of 23 inches, I am only 2 inches larger then I was when I was in my 20's!

I remember wearing a terrycloth headband as a belt back in my aerobic instructor days.

So begins my 7 Seconds of Bliss...

I have been WAY to hard on myself.  Starving myself.  Denying myself of a little bit more of this or a bigger piece of that.  Tonight...I'm having cheese, and lots of it!!! And wine, plenty of wine!!!  With a 23 inch waist, why bother with the sit ups...I'm going to sit back and pour myself another cup of coffee - maybe put some cream in. I'm hungry, what should I have for breakfast?....  maybe I should get the pants in 24 inch waist, give myself a little extra wiggle room. 

and there... my 7 Seconds of Bliss ends.

I was holding the tape measure upside-down.

I have a 32 inch waist.
Really?
Impossible!!!

I measure again...
33 inches...WHAT?

I measure AGAIN
34 inches...relaxed
32 if I suck in
31 if I pull tight
30 if I hold my breath, stand perfectly straight, and pull hard

This can't be.  It must be a defective tape measure.

I start from the left and count each inch. They are in order.
I grab a ruler and measure the tape measurer. It lines up fine.

I skip breakfast that morning, have black coffee and stay on the treadmill for an extra 15 minutes.

And then I did something bizarre...

I stood in front of a full length mirror - naked.

I'd be lying if I told you I was pleased with my reflection. It is far from perfect. 

As long as I can remember, I have been unhappy with my less than peak physique.

In my teens, it was my small breasts.
In my 20's it was my big thighs.
In my 30's it was the cellulite on my thighs.
In my 40's it was the cellulite on my ass.
And now that I'm in my 50's...

I need to learn to appreciate my body.

This body allows me to stand and walk pain free.

And, I can run.  Not the marathons I used to, but I can still run.

And, I can twirl.  I've been twirling a baton for over 40 years.  Sometimes I light it on fire.

This body went to trapeze school and hula hooped down Broadway.

This body rides a bike through soft sand and blistering 110 degree heat at Burning Man.

This body recently fit in a very small box (see Out of the Box).

This is the body of a funky, free spirited woman who refuses to give up cheese and wears forgiving jeans.

At 52, I need to celebrate how my body has rewarded me.


In closing...

The last thing my friend of 37 years said to me, the one who died and who's funeral I just attended, was...

"stick that in your pipe and smoke it, you fat ass bitch" 


Well, this fat ass bitch is forgiving.
This fat ass bitch wore a double layer of SPANX at your funeral.

And this is where my next story begins.

Green Monkey Tales © 2010 Shannon E. Kennedy

My Voice Stops Here

I've been on a roll lately.  One silly post after another.  But not today.  Today is the day that I pledge to purge my writing woe's.

I recently joined a neurotic group called THE INSECURE WRITERS SUPPORT GROUP and according to the guidelines, I must dedicate this day, the first Wednesday of the month, to releasing my deepest, darkest writing fears and to support other writers who are experiencing the same.

None of this sounds like fun to me so I'll keep it short.

I love to write.

I can't find my car keys or my sunglasses, but I know where my english assignments are from 1976.

I have all my poems, short stories and journals from my youth - even a list of every boy I ever kissed (along with a cryptic rating system).

What I don't have is a college degree.  Or any published work.  And worse, no interest in reading.

How do you become a writer if you don't read?

Because my goal has always been to write a book, I recently hired an editor and began submitting my work.  That didn't go well.  I never got beyond the first paragraph of chapter one.  Why? (besides the obvious fact that I don't like to be told what to do).  Because her corrections killed what I felt was my natural flow.  And without that, I have nothing.

To be precise, this is what I started out with:  (from a blog post titled The 50 YEAR ITCH)

It is the first Friday of summer, the start of our 50th year. I am winding down the work week on the office front porch. My father sits in his sturdy, classic white, high-backed rocking chair - afraid to rock, and I stand beside him too uncomfortable to sit.  The depth of our conversation is narrowing. 

My insecurities assure me that this is not smart enough so I submit this:
It is the first taste of summer, when placid winds and a tepid sun are in perfect balance. Together on the office front porch, my father sits in his hardwood, classic white, high-backed rocking chair too afraid to rock, and I stand beside him too irritated to sit.  The depth of our conversations is narrowing.  

And these are the proposed changes:  

 Include in the opening paragraph a description of the type of the company so that you do not have to describe it in the following paragraph.

So I submit this:  

It is the first taste of summer, when placid winds and a tepid sun are in perfect balance. Together on the office front porch, decompressing from a work week full of security breaches, alarm malfunctions and schedule changes – typical hiccups associated with running a private security guard agency - my father sits in his hardwood, classic white, high-backed rocking chair too afraid to rock, and I stand beside him too aggravated to sit.  The depth of our conversations is narrowing.  

I revised that in May.  I haven't submitted a word since. Why?  Because that isn't my voice.

I don't know how to make corrections and still keep my voice.

Does anyone know how you do that?

PLEASE don't suggest I read a book.  That will only piss me off.  And yes, I've read Writing the Natural Way, Naked, Drunk and Writing, Writing Down the Bones, Walking on Alligators... etc, etc, etc.


I promise to return to my natural funny self tomorrow. Or the next day. Or by Friday at the latest.

Right now, I'm heading to a bar.

I just heard that I lost another friend - a former flame (this is my second).  55 years old.  I referenced him on Monday, when I wrote JUST SAY NO.  He was the boyfriend that insulted my sisters dog.

Although we had not seen each other since 1982, we wrote to each other on and off for 37 years.  He was a badass with baby blue eyes.  Here's to you Newhart.  Wherever you go, show them who's boss!

Out of the Box

I have zero interest in going anywhere on the weekends thanks to wine, an attentive husband, entertaining pets, and an active imagination.

Late Friday afternoon a large, heavy box arrived at my doorstep.  It was addressed to my husband and had a big red RUSH HANDLE WITH CARE sticker on it.

What a G R E A T way to kick off a weekend!

I thought about texting him to find out what was in it, but decided to wait until he got home from work.

What is heavy, must be handled with care, and is so important that it should be delivered with rapid speed?

With his loafers off and a french martini in hand, it's time to play...

GUESS WHATS IN THE BOX

The game begins as it always does, with seven questions (no more, no less).

ME: Did you order it online?
MARK:  YES

ME: Were you buzzed when you ordered it?  (he buys Puma sneakers when he's buzzed)
MARK: NO

ME:  Is it for me?
MARK: NO

ME: Does it require batteries?
MARK: NO

ME: Did you find it on a porn site?
MARK:  NO

ME:  If I drop it in the tub will I die?
MARK:  YES, don't drop it in the tub

ME:  Do I get to decide where we put it?
MARK: NO

I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being disappointed by what I saw - a table saw.

He carefully positions it on the livingroom ottoman, and I imagine it staying there until Christmas.

The empty box becomes the cats new toy - in the box, out of the box, in the box, out.


Two martini's later, I get a text from the daughter:

Can I come by to use your bathroom and get socks please?


Sorry, I'm in a box right now


What?


You heard me


MOM! 


yes, come over.  we're home


of course you're home, you're always home

Anyone can jump in and out of the box, but at my age and with my expandable frame, can I fit inside the box?

ME: Honey, close the lid
MARK:  What?

ME: Close the lid please
MARK: Why?

ME: Lindsay's on her way over

Two minutes and two toe cramps later, my daughter arrives.

LINDSAY:  Hi Mark, where's Mom
MARK: She's in the box

This is my cue to pop out of the box.  

ME: SURPRISE!!!

She barely blinks.  

ME: I fit inside that box!
LINDSAY: So I see

ME: Did I surprise you?
LINDSAY: Nothing you do surprises me anymore

She stays long enough to warm her toes and wet her whistle.

At 21, I'm thrilled anytime she stops by, regardless of how long.

It's not easy raising a daughter.  First she idolized me, then she despised me.  I've been patiently waiting for her to tolerate me.

Half-hour later I receive another text...

So weird, I tried to explain you in the box to my friend but she didn't understand.

So I text her the pictures.

Alright, have fun being out of the box!  Love you xoxo 

Actual video of Shannon jumping out of a now beat up box.  

Special thanks to my buddy ZOC for filming, and for joining in on the fun.

Monday Already?

My husband and I are sitting at a bar when a semi attractive woman with long dark hair stands between us.  She caresses my husbands face with both hands and gives him a long, wet, kiss on the lips.

She is wearing bright red lipstick.

He is wearing a doctors coat with his name embroidered on it.

It compliments my nurses outfit.

Neither of us are in the medical profession.

He barely blinks.  Just stares straight ahead and takes a long sip of his drink.

I'm so mad at him right now.  

I don't care if this is a dream.

The image of the woman is hauntingly familiar.  Four hours later I finally figured out who she is.

Early in the summer Mark attended race car driving school.

The woman at the bar is the same woman that showed up at the track wearing a black bikini.

Who wears a bikini to a race car track?

She aligns herself so that the first thing he sees as he exits his car is NOT ME!!!

Somehow,  he manages to avoid her all together.  

As if he knew my zoom ...

was pointed right at him.

That smile is for me.

I, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed focusing in on her flaws. 

I can't always tell the difference between dreams and reality.  This was the case in a post titled

DREAM ON

(if you're not going to read it, at least click on it to see how many comments I got)

WAIT..... before you do, here is a joke courtesy of Sandy Lawson Mahle:


A woman went up to the bar in a quiet rural pub... She gestured alluringly to the bartender who approached her immediately. She seductively signaled that he should bring his face closer to hers. As he did, she gently caressed his full beard. "Are you the manager?" she asked, softly stroking his face with both hands.

"Actually, no," he replied.

"Can you get him for me? I need to speak to him," she said, running her hands beyond his beard and into his hair.
"I'm afraid I can't," breathed the bartender. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes. I need for you to give him a message," she continued, running her forefinger across the bartender's lip and slyly popping a couple of her fingers into his mouth and allowing him to suck them gently.

"What should I tell him?" the bartender managed to say.
"Tell him," she whispered, "There's no toilet paper, hand soap, or paper towels in the ladies room." 

***

ME and my PPD

POST POST DEPRESSION

I suffer from it 

It's why I talk to my cat

Here's how you can help

Writing gets me high. 

I love watching the words drip onto the page.

And still, I tweak it. 

Until I post it.

Then I wait for it.
Obsess over it.

The comments don't come fast enough.
The hits aren't strong enough.

And so, I wallow in my PPD.

I need another fix.
Must write more to get that feeling back.
But if I do, you won't read the previous post.
It will get lost in the archives of posts from my past.

To elevate (not alleviate) my PPD, I read the wildly brilliant bloggers.
The ones with 252 comments and oodles of followers.

My favorites are the twisted ones who admit to drinking in excess.  Especially if they write about their pets, in particular, their cats.

By the way...I have a fresh scar across my left eyelid because my cat will not balance on a towel wrapped on my head the way the Bloggess's cat does.  Even after catnip.

Occasionally, a blogger sucks me in so hard that I talk about her to my real time friends.

Did you know that HOB (husband of Betty) left Bossy Betty after 30 years of marriage!

Why?

"Probably because she's bossy"

NO, that's not it.  She's lovely.

"Must be another woman"

NO, there could be no better woman.

"Then why"

I don't know.  I don't think even Betty knows why.

Her house is falling apart.  She cries over a shoes she's found in the street.  If we didn't live on an opposite coasts, I would mapquest her IP address - knock on her front door, unannounced - with a case of wine and a basket full of kittens.

Betty and her sister Kathleen.  

proof that she is surrounded by love

Some of us write about our quirks and our uncanny addictions.  Katy does it.  She needs you to fill her box.  If you hurry you'll see she's a stalker and the late night creeper.  I think she's awesome and I am impressed with her candor.

Red Shoes is twisted (in a good AND bad way). He's guaranteed to shock you (in a good AND bad way).  We've got a lot in common, especially our thirst for lust, love, re-discovery, self realization and adventure.

JennyMac got wasted on white chocolate martini's then stuck a strangers toothbrush down her throat.  It's gross I know... unless of course, that was a euphemism.

If you want to know about Sex, Lies & Dating in NYC (which I don't because I'm married but it doesn't matter because she's THAT good) check out Simone Grant.  Her Sake + Gummy Bear = LOVE story is juice good (and it was served up on a Sunday no less).

Want to travel to India but no time and no cash?  NO PROBLEM.  Check out My Yatra Diary. The photo's are breathtaking and Arti is a true gem.

Katie Gates is my favorite author.  She's real.  She reminds me where I'm going and why.  Her book, The Somebody Who, was nominated for a 2009 Literary Award from the Library of Virginia.  You can order her book (on kindle or a hardcopy) by clicking here:  The Somebody Who.  Before and after that, you can read her insightful blog at:  Katie Gates: Stories and Opinions

Truth is, the last thing I want to read are "Mommy Blogs" and yet Julianna got me at her title, "Surviving Boys."  She is a self proclaimed "Superhero Mother, Jedi Master, Mediator, Referee, Experimental Chess, Financial Magician, Semi-Neurotic Postal Worker, Surviving Boys.... One Comical Mess At A Time"   She reminds me of why I wanted to become a mother in the first place.

Want to go out but lacking the motivation to go out?  NO WORRIES.  Read Marty.  He's always Chasing Something into the Dark.  I have no idea how he does it night, after night, after night.  Oh... that's right, he's single.  And if you feel guilty about your eating habits Marty is a MUST READ.  He has the worlds worst diet.  I'm only reading him because I know its just a matter of time before he drops dead.  I want to be the blogger that says, "Oh ya, I read him until he dropped dead - with a burger in one hand and a beer in the other.  Lucky bastard."

If you haven't figured it out by now, TRUTH IS, this is my way of applauding some of my fellow freaks, my blogging community.

So, go ahead...pour yourself a bowl of wine and enjoy!
Happy reading, readers.  Happy tweaking freaks.

DON'T FORGET ...YOU CAN CURE MY PPD

Do your part - read and comment.
comment daily
sometimes twice a day
comment with your eyes closed
comment symbols only
comment naked
i don't care
just do it
do it
now

REMEMBERING POSTS FROM THE PAST 

  Read HAPPY WHEE DAY 

You'll be glad you did