Went to Chicago. Took this shot. And saw Neil Finn. Now how's THAT for a recap?
(Shot taken in the giant silver orb thing. I do not actually believe I'm that large, but beliefs and reality sometimes clash.)
Enjoy 43 seconds of Neil. I will be back when my personality is officially found.
And how are you this morning? Sleep well? Yes? Oh, good.
Me? Stayed up a little late last night with a bunch of lovely women who made me laugh and feel good about the state of women in the world today. Made me long for more time with women like that. There are a lot of good people in the world. I like that I get to know a few of them.
In the office this morning, wrapping up some straggling things. Heading out to the airport in a few hours. Thinking about downloading a few episodes of Lost to my iPod. Or Grey's Anatomy. You know, to watch on the plane ride home. I'd like to be more excited about it, but let's face it, with the airing of the reunion show of Rock of Love, there ends the best show on cable television, so how can I even care about TV anymore. Really.
I'll be home for less than 17 hours, then heading out for my date with Dan and Neil in Chicago.
Be back next week with more riveting posts just like this one, for your blog reading pleasure.
And may I just say as I return fully to the written form and leave behind National Scrapbook Day-related video blogging, that from the 20th row of the Orpheum Theater, it didn't really matter that Jesus was 64 years old. Dude can still sang! And I was a bit nervous. I'll admit it. We saw him in a production of this in 1993, and I can still remember Dan shooting me a few glances during the show, then afterward, saying: "Jesus has lost a bit of his upper register."
But not on Saturday night. Jesus rocked. (That would make an excellent bumper sticker, no?) Took both Aidan and Cole, along with my two sisters in law and one corresponding husband. Cole totally dug it, as you can see by his excited expression in the photo below, which can also double for constipation:
He's reached that age. That magical age where he will barely tolerate the carefully trained lens of my camera. Sigh. Knew it was coming.
But not Aidan! She has entered a new phase, the one that says: I look REALLY good, will you take a picture?
So there you have it. Back to normal life.
1. So I'm printing a bunch of cool custom-designed journaling cards for my upcoming class at CKC Buffalo, and I'm printing them out on kraft cardstock. And my printer refuses to see kraft cardstock. It is the WEIRDEST thing. I have to run the paper through three times before it will accept it as a form of printable paper. Anyone else have weirdness with kraft cardstock? (And are you coming to CKC Buffalo? Because I am working my tushka off to make that 60 minutes WELL worth your while!)
2. Last night, we went to Aidan's last volleyball game of the season. I took 7 pictures then I stopped, because I realized fairly quickly, they were all going to look like this:
Ain't no amount of fancy actions gonna turn me into a decent sports photog. (Side note: the team's color is maroon, and dan is the assistant coach, and always wears some variety of maroon shirt, not that this photo would indicate that to be so.)
3. Speaking of Dan, after the game he decided to run home from the rec center. No small feat, at 7.5 miles. Apparently, when he was closing in on mile 6, a woman walking on the street flagged him down to ask him if she could bum a smoke off him. Nice. (And no, that last sentence isn't me talking about myself in the third person.)
4. How many of you thought of Puffle Christ Superstar while watching American Idol last night. Oh you KNOW you did.
Listen Puffle, I don't like what I see… all I ask is that you listen to me… and remember, I've been your right-hand puffle, all along…
Go Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber... Go Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber… it's your birthday, it's your birthday...
Peace out.
Because when you do, she gets real pissed off and does this, y'all.
Sigh.
Dan won't shovel in April. It's in his contract apparently.
He also won't remove the giant air conditioning unit that has been sitting in that very position on our deck SINCE NOVEMBER. I remember asking him, when we pulled it out of the wall it was sealed into, "Do you think that will still be sitting there in Spring?"
That's how we roll. We're saving it for when we retire. To a trailer.
But despite the snow, today is a special day because I'm not sure if you know this or not, but it's Crazy Hair Day at my kids' school.
Even Cole's teacher (who's also a friend of mine) got into the action. Nice devil nubs, Melissa!
So all's not lost.
But I think sweet Chester sums up how most of us Minnesotans feel about this April 1st shovel out:
Well said, furry friend. Well said.
It's the 31st of March and it's snowing buckets.
So I need something to life my spirits. Don't get me wrong. It's not like I pine for hot weather. Anyone who knows me will tell you I simply long for a perfectly controlled 72 degree climate year round. But the following photo is definitely lifting my spirits. Take a peek:
Meet Chester:
Who's a good boy? Who's a gooooood boyyyyyyyy?
No. Not mine. Just another fine specimen in a series of canines leaving their muddy little paw prints on my heart. Awwwwwwwww.
Chester belongs to another neighbor. Word is really getting around. "You know that woman who never leaves her house? Apparently she's like some Dog Whisperer. And SHE'S FREE!"
I will tell you this much, but don't tell my other dogs: I love him. He is the only dog I've watched thus far that actually walks well on a leash. We took a nice walk this morning, just as the few flakes were starting to fall and my arm is still comfortably resting in its socket. Go Chester!
This past weekend was a big one. We had six 12-year-old girls over for Aidan's Big Birthday Sleepover Bash on Friday night. It is a very loud age. Very loud. But still really giggly and cute. So very different from when I was 12 and the girls I knew were keeping busy trying to score their next bong hit. Sad, but oh so true. (Mom, that's why I had to start hanging out with Molly. MUCH better influence than the girls who stole my lunch every day.)
Bring on the loudness. These are really good kids.
And the other bit of goodness?
I love buying presents for my kids that are really for me.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to practicing "Talk Dirty to Me" by Poison.
As the girls at the party would say, it's just so tight.
• I love how when Cole reads, he uses something to help him follow the lines.
• "WHAT IS THAT? MOOOOM! HELLLLLLLP MEEEEEEEE!"
(Aidan, it's called the SUN and it warms certain parts of our planet… possibly even Minnesota by May.)
• I didn't tell you this story: my new sweet little camera? Aidan broke it. Well, at least she and I have both agreed that it was broken on her watch, though we aren't sure exactly how it happened. I sent it back to Kodak. Kodak fixed it. Now I can take really AWESOME photos of myself again. YES!
•EGGS, Y'ALL!
And one final note:
I was in the basement this morning at 8 a.m., folding laundry while the kids ate breakfast, because I like to multi-task like that, and I was watching VH1, as I will often do while folding laundry in the basement.
I guess I'm always hoping for a glimpse of something good. Or new. You know, like maybe the musical mainstream has decided to pick up on the fresh new sound of Liam Finn who has more indie buzz than anyone out there (and I legitimately LOVE his new album, his musical pedigree aside). But I never see anything good during the 15 minute chunks that I occasionally catch. Just the same old lackluster musical offerings.
Although I did see a new Matchbox 20 video. (WARNING: If you are a Matchbox 20 fan, STOP READING NOW! Because no matter how much I comfort you afterwards, you're still going to think I'm passing judgement on you, and you'll be correct.) And I watched Rob Thomas, sing (and don't get me wrong, he CAN sing) his way through another mindless, pointless over-crafted stupid pop song. And I thought, he could record himself in taking a crap in a bathroom, and VH1 would air it. Seriously.
And I don't get it. I mean, don't I fit firmly into the VH1 demographic? Or not? Maybe I don't. Maybe I'm WAY older than the new VH1 target audience. Whatever the case, I always turn off VH1 with a sigh. Longing for the good old days. Remember shows like MTVs 120 Minutes? You know, where you'd see SOMETHING…anything… that was new or interesting.
Then the video credits come on and I see the name of the new Matchbox 20 album: Exile on Mainstream.
Oh. My. God. Are you kidding me? Liz Phair pulled off that play years ago, when she was still a cool artist and was paying her homage to the Stones. But Matchbox 20? Seriously? Are they kidding?
Why not just called it: Entrenched in Mainstream?
Then I realized my special time is due any minute and I took a deep breath, grabbed my freshly folded laundry, and found a life.
Have a great weekend.
Yeah, that's right. You totally heard me.
I could stand up and lie to each and every one of you and say something like, "WHAT? Rock of Love? What's THAAAAAT?"
But it is what it is: a freaking train wreck of silicon-laden 'smokin' hot hotties' that you sort of can't look away from. (Well, maybe YOU can... but I'm here today to stand up and admit that I am powerless over MOST of VH1s offerings.)
You can ask Dan... I will sit there providing a one-sided, running commentary during the hour I spend with Bret and the girls, tossing out things like: where do they FIND these people? who would want boobs THAT big? I cannot IMAGINE competing with 11 other women and watching you make out with them every day! WHY WON'T HE TAKE OFF THAT BANDANA?
And yet, I still can't look away.
To be fair, I don't watch it on Sundays, when the new shows air. No… I wait, until at some point during nightly channel flipping, it suddenly appears. And then I have a DYING NEED TO KNOW if Daisy has been able to string together sentences containing both nouns AND properly conjugated verbs.
I'm almost more ashamed to admit all of this than I ever was to admit I was a smoker.
And if you didn't happen to catch this clip, it's so frighteningly real that I almost don't know if I should laugh, or scream: WHY WON'T HE TAKE OFF THAT BANDANA?
Which is SO not true.
I just woke up. on my BIRTHDAY. The 8th Day of the Third Month of the Year. 42 years ago today, back in the friggin' 60s, I was born. That is just so groovy I can't stand it.
Because we just broke the bank on Disney, we aren't doing "gifts" this year, at least not traditional ones that cost money. My gift last night (now come on... I'm not going there) was to kick Cole OUT of his bed, and have a quiet, single bed all to myself. No loud breathers anywhere to be found. Or heard.
And I woke up to a cascading set of Bazzill Basics cardstock, each with its own letter, spelling out "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" all the way down the stairs. They're making their second appearance this week. Aidan made them for Dan's birthday on Thursday, and set her alarm for 5:30 a.m. to get up and lay them out AND make him breakfast. How sweet is that? I had called her the night before just to tell her, "Don't forget to wish Daddy a happy day." She's such an overachiever.
I just demanded that Dan make me pancakes, and he has happily obliged. Love watching men cook. And besides, my points to weight ratio is SO not in any jeopardy. And do you want to know why?
Because as of today, I'm sitting at a whopping NET ZERO. Do you know what this means? It means that after all that healthy living, excercise and point counting, I've officially gained every bloody pound back.
My goal that I was going to tell you about that I've missed by a mile was that by my 42nd birthday, I was going to weigh 142 pounds. A nice, manageable, healthy weight. Today? 160. For those of you who are math challenged, that is not the same number.
Now, I will save the rededication to all things healthy for tomorrow. Or maybe Monday. Today, I will eat my pancakes, chase it down with some Do-si-dos, and start looking at the Taste of India take out menu. Afterall, I've got the WHOLE next year for self-loathing!
Afterall, today IS my birthday!
Love,
C42
I'm thinking it's a bit plain, if you get my drift. Needless to say, as of 8 a.m. this morning, it's officially gone. It was a bit hard to look at him last night. Let's just say I'm not super into hooking up with dead presidents.
But not only were his creative shavings in honor of President's Day (go Presidents, go Presidents, it's your birthday) but the fact that he has removed the man-growth from his face signals one vital fact: my sweet friends' twin babies are home from the hospital! Let's hear it for Jack and Stella!
(Yes, I made the sign which I printed out on my rocking HP Photosmart printer, but opted NOT to also give them the Liam Finn CD. At least not before I give the babies my special "Steve Perry Loves You" Mix. I mean, you know, first things first!)
But the purpose of this post is far more critical, and here it is:
[edited: tickets have sold! } I HAVE TWO FOO FIGHTERS TICKETS I CANNOT USE! So as much as it breaks my heart to ask this…do you want to have my Date with Dave?
When: Feb.27 7:30 p.m.
Where: Target Center, Mpls.
Seats: Section 133 (lower seating level, above floor) Row Z (no, i didn't plan that) Seats 17 & 18.
Price: I paid $45 each for the tickets. Will gladly sell them for $30 each. (and that means you don't have to pay the horrible Ticketmaster taxes, because I already did. Go YOU!)
If you are local and are interested, email me at czdesign@comcast.net. There's plenty of time to mail them out to you via UPS and you know, you pay me etc.
And last but not least… Cole's new phase: Mount Everest. He sets up a fairly elaborate base camp in our family room. The comforter, in case you're wondering, is the Western Cwm. Thank God for imaginary crampons. That's all I'm sayin'.
Happy President's Day to all.
