Time Flies....and, So Do Planes

When I was younger, I heard it said many a time that the older you get, the faster time goes by. I gotta say this is true, true, true. This week blew by so quickly that I woke up and couldn't believe it was the weekend again.....and, that a blog had yet to spew from my bowels during the week. (That, and I get confused by my Book de la Face status updates--I feel like I've written a blog but in reality have just been posting strange/silly/ridiculous status updates and wasting time scanning everyone else's FB stuff. I gotta start limiting my time there.)

The airshow was fabulous. (If you don't care about the air show, keep reading--I have other things to babble about. Hopefully, I won't write about how I think I'm sprouting a wart. I might write about how I was on a web radio show this week, which is an interesting, self-centered topic, but I'm not sure I'll get around to that. Perhaps I can tell you about today's alumni picnic....) Talking about the airshow this late in the game (a week later) seems rather pointless, but I enjoyed it enough that it merits mention. It was so "long" ago that I literally had to check my own blog to see if I had written about it. (I have not.) I wanted to share a few photos from the event, anyways. Suffice it to say a good time was had by all, I'd gladly go again and the price was extremely reasonable. The planes inspire and awe. Well, they do until they start blowing up things--then, you remember why such planes exist.

Talk about your variety of air vehicles. There were big planes, little planes, propeller planes, fighter jets, cargo jets, helicopters, hover crafts, passenger planes, a blimp and even some Tebala Shriner planes. This photo nicely illustrates the variety of planes to chose from. Cargo plane, passenger plane, fighter jet....all parked next to each other. Yum! That, by the way, is the American Eagle plane we could have taken to Connecticut in June. I am SOOOOO glad we didn't take that little puppy to New England. Is there even a bathroom on that thing? Give me the lap of luxury and six across seating any day.

One of the highlights of the airshow was the Harrier. I was excited to see they had a few of these on site--after all, I had a glossy color photo of a Harrier in my high school locker (which, in hinds sight is really weird. But, I digress.) The Harrier is a plane that can hover. It is a mystery to me how this can happen but I'm guessing that one should not stand under a hovering Harrier. Imagine my giddiness when I learned that the aircraft would be part of the flying acts. It was delicious. That puppy hovered this way and that way, a real crowd pleaser. Thankfully, it didn't start bombing things, so I was able to keep my Harrier image unsoiled.

Here's a photo of the Harrier hangin' around, entertaining the masses. I took video of it, too, but it just didn't do the sacred event justice. Pretty amazing to see something like that hanging over your head. Shock and awe, indeed.

Another thing that intrigued me is that all the aircraft have these little red tags hanging all over them that say "remove before flight." Um, does anyone else find it humorous that professional airmen--trained fighter pilots and the like--need little reminder tags to do things like remove before flight? I loved it. Another highlight of the event was spotting a guy wearing a red shirt with the same saying on it. Clever.

Here I am, removing before flight. I wasn't flying anywhere, so I suppose removing before flight was probably a bad idea. Notice I am wearing (once again) my reunion T-shirt. Side note: guess what I am wearing again today, this time to the alumni picnic? Yes, that's right--this exact same shirt. I do believe the wife is going to burn it upon our arrival home. It seems to be my outfit choice of this summer.


Three Hawk and Argo Warrior Princess were the perfect Air show companions. Actually, they are perfect doing-anything companions. A good time truly is assured when hanging out with them. Argo and I are thinking about doing a little ultra light flight this summer, but I'm not sure if I'd rather spend the money on flying, new glasses or another tattoo....time will tell.
Since time flies, I will know much sooner than later what the decision will be.

Yes, today is the high school alumni picnic. Funny how it took me thirty years to really think about high school. I'm not sure what I think about it, but I do think about it now. This summer has been the summer of high school. The picnic is being held in the Chicago suburbs. Since the mosquitoes will probably be bigger than most airplanes seen at the air show and since there will be an entire squadron of mosquitoes dive bombing us throughout the event, I'm not sure how long we will last. We haven't purchased any food for the picnic yet; in fact, the wife and I haven't even decided what we are actually going to take to the event. My goal is to take something pre-made (i.e. sub sandwich) and call it a day. I'm simple folk. I really have no need to grill giant slabs of beef....but, the wife seems to think this is what she would like to do. I have a feeling the car will be stopping at the local butcher on the way out of town. She can befriend someone with a grill because I know we don't have a grill and we are certainly not going to stop and buy grilling products.


And, so I must go primp for the picnic. Stories of warts and web babbling will have to wait......

Bling bling--Take off the Class Ring!

As always, life goes uber-fast. The 30th reunion has come and gone, a blur of fun and fever. Seems like it was just yesterday that I was putting the class ring on in order to generate interest in joining the class reunion antics. On the other hand, it seems like I'd been on the planning committee for about seven billion years. No matter--the reunion has come and gone...and, boy was fun had by all.

Before I departed to join the crusty ol' alumni in the burbs of Chicago, I received an email from Spotted Owl....of which I must share snippets, as it literally made me snort out loud. Spotted owl made suggestions including but not limited to:
"1. No matter how tempting it is, stay off the disco ball."
"2. Doing your bust a hip dance move from the past may just bust a hip this time.....this also goes for shoving yourself in a locker."
"3. You must pick a date to officially retire your class ring...."
"4. Remember that your friends that you would likely call for bail money will probably have already hit the hay for the night, so plan accordingly."
"5. Even if someone double-dog-dares you, do not, and I repeat, do NOT cross the toe fault line when you bowl. They put some major funky was on those lanes and you will end up doing a move that you had no idea you could do. But, wait--that might also require a trip to the chiropractor."

I can assure Spotted Owl that I did indeed stay off the disco ball (which was hard because the DJ was spinning some great music) but I cannot say I stayed off the bar (I was only on their during "Vogue." You can't Vogue without hopping onto the bar, can you?). I don't think I pulled any muscles but I really did have a fever, so that probably kept me from doing stupid-injury-producing dance moves. I took my class ring off late Sunday after the festivities. I did not need bail and I did not cross the foul line.

For those of you who were worried, fear not: I maintained my vegetarian status despite visiting the world's best hot dog joint. Take a gander at the photo collage above to see said hot dog/french fry combo. Now, THAT'S a hot dog. Mustard and french fries. NO KETCHUP. They don't even have ketchup in the place. Throw some salt on those fries and get over it. Skip trying to keep the fries and hot dog separate--it's a package deal--just eat the thing with the fries on it. At the risk the owners will sue me for zillions of dollars (this blog IS international, I am sure), I am posting a photo of me holding a bag of grease--er, I mean their fries--while standing in the inner sanctum (which you can see consists of a counter that is older than me and that hasn't been cleaned since I was five years old). Yes, a bag of fries, grease oozing out the brown paper bag. I figure they were semi-vegetarian....probably fried in giant vats of animal fat, reused and reused since the opening of the place. Okay, so maybe I am no longer a vegetarian. Hard to say.

You haven't lived until you've eaten a rubber dog. Trust me. How can you not love a hot dog that crunches?

Yeah....I think I'll remain a vegetarian and leave the rubber dogs to the wife.

The reunion weekend included many events: a bowling bash (hence, the cosmic bowl look of a peer), a tour of the high school (which was very interesting and quite warm-fuzzy-ing), an actual reunion and a brunch (of which I missed because I was still recovering from the stupid fever thing I had going on). I'm not sure how the hell I am supposed to capture all that in one measly blog entry; heck, I can't even come close to doing it justice. I'd post a bunch of pictures (a picture is worth a thousand words, right?), but it'd take me forever to block out all those faces. Besides, you would miss half the fun of seeing the bubbly look on everyone's faces. (Be my friend on Book de la Face if you really need to see a photo journal of the antics.) The bowling bash was made all the more special because my parents, sister and niece were part of the fun (they are alumni--well, not the niece but who's paying attention to that detail?). The tour was super special because I got to leave my purse behind in the band room (which still had that awful band room stench it had 30 years ago). And, the reunion....

....well, the reunion was off-the-chart fun. Unfortunately, I look rather vampire white in the photos, as I really was sick. I had the chills and a fever and an ear ache and.....I didn't have time for that nonsense. I sucked it up, took a boatload of Tylenol, and forged forward. I didn't wear that class ring for months on end for nothing. I didn't harass people daily via my status updates in an effort to generate interest. I didn't shave my legs and pluck my chin hair for nothing. The excitement knocked that fever right out of the park and I was able to dance on the bar--er, I mean catch up with old friends--at a blistering, fever-free pace. (To anyone who is now sick due to my presence at the reunion: I humbly apologize. I am a selfish pig that gladly shared her germs for her own selfish gain. Send me your Tylenol bill and take comfort in the fact that it only lasts about 48 hours.)

There is something about seeing the "mean girls" from high school....who probably really aren't mean any more but just seeing them scares a little squirt of poop out of you. Well, the mean girls walked in--together, of course--and they still had had a smidgen of bullying power over me. How crazy is that? Mean girls that I haven't seen in 30 years still freaking me out! I got over it quickly....and, it turns out two of them came up to me (individually) and thanked me for organizing the event. I was speechless. Another even sent me a book de la face thank you message. Speechless squared.

Sorry to say--One of the pack was still a bitch. Can't win 'em all.

Thirty years later and I still enjoyed being around the people that made my high school days special. In many cases, the only thing that changed is that people were standing in the doorway because of a hot flash instead of teenage angst hormonal outbursts.

Well, and that we are fatter and grey-er.

And so, the class ring has been removed and safely tucked away....for another ten years. Or, should we make it five? Bling, bling.....I already miss my class ring.......

Lumber Limbo

The class reunion weekend is FINALLY here. I've been talking about it for months, wearing my class ring in its honor. I've got my reunion t-shirt, I've got my book de la Face reunion status update posts, I've got the tiara shined and polished. I've been studying my yearbooks. I only have a few moments to blog, as I have to pack some delicious outfits for the events...it's hard work being the most under-dressed at every event and on every occasion. The planning of the wardrobe has become a bit more complicated than usual because.....

What IS this photo, you ask? Why, that is our shower and a toilet. Doesn't your shower have sleeping bags and shoes in it? Don't you pee around your clothes hamper? Don't you keep bookshelves in your bathroom?

Alas, the wood floor installation has resumed, so everything had to be moved out of two bedrooms. There are only so many places you can hide things, so we had to resort to shower utilization. It's not like we shower in there or anything. (Yes, we do shower--just not in this particular show.) The dis-assembled bed is now in the living room, the bedroom furniture surrounds the other bedroom furniture, my clothes are in various locations of the abode. This photo illustrated how the furniture surrounds the furniture. I like the way my shoes are perched on top of the dresser. I may have to continue this method, as it's really easy to see what shoes to wear when they are in full display.

If you look closely, you can see my reunion t-shirt in the lower-ish right hand corner of the photo--maroon and white. Woo woo!

I like the way the wife has protected everything by covering things with towels. Safety first!

We are definitely living in limbo. Lumber limbo, that is.

It's really weird that I post photos of our house in limbo, don't you think?

The lumber is very beautiful-- there is nothing like a wood floor-- and I'm glad it's getting installed, but there is just something about being all discombobulated that makes life seem a little more stressful. I haven't found my jewelry box yet....gotta do that before we do the reunion scene--I gotta have my sparkly earrings to match my class ring bling. Ah well, as long as I can find clean undies and keep ahold of my yearbook, I'll be good to go.

It's nice to be such a simple grrrrrl.

Here's what the bedroom looks like right now: a bunch of tools and a bare floor. It kind of freaks me out to see what is "under" all that carpeting or flooring--like, barely anything is under there. (Houses freak me out. I'm not sure how they remain standing. They are really just a bunch of well placed lumber products and some cement. I digress.) I have been told that the entire floor project will be done by the time the reunion weekend is over. I am a wee bit skeptical but this is no time to be putting out negative thoughts; hence, I look forward to posting photos of the finished floor on Monday night.

Don't you just love the color of this bedroom? I do! I would paint every room in the house this color, but that'd be kinda weird. Guess I'll stick with one room being this awesome blue.

Even the dogs are in lumber limbo. They do not know what to think about all this. All they know is (a) they can't go upstairs; (b) we are sleeping on the couches; and, (c) some guy keeps coming in the house and making all sorts of ridiculous noise. Freckles hates change. She looks crabby. I know people say dogs don't have emotions but I believe otherwise--I think Freckles is pissed off that we have upset her little world and she can't find her dog bed. She's wondering why we are making her life more complicated and miserable--everything is slippery and hard and different for her. If she could give "the finger," I know she would shoot us the biggest bird on the planet.

Freckles, you'll have to get over it, as the wife has spent a lot of time and money on this project.

We all better get some little protective slippers for our feet so we don't scratch anything when walking on the new wood floors.....

Soon I will have to wear bubble wrap whenever in the house. There are just too many things I can touch/mark/scratch/dent/ruin.

I'd love to blog more but there are earrings to be found and wardrobes to be planned. Besides, there is only so long I can stay in limbo before I have to get out for a dot....I'm going to the store to buy some bubble wrap and tiara polish. That and some acne cream. Seems I've sprouted some delicious acne for the reunion.

It will be just like high school: zits and hormones. Is this gonna be a great weekend or what?!!

Don't Tread on Me

Dearest blog reader, where DID the week go? I guess I spent more time shining my class ring (bling bling! in preparation for the upcoming reunion), visualizing Larry Lump's departure, avoiding BP gas and picking out a new "incoming work call" ring tones than I realized. I also tried to start a new blog for "easy reunion reference" but after spending an entire evening fighting with it (cutting and pasting does not work well in this format), I gave up and left the new site with a half-assed page and nothing done. Perhaps tomorrow.

Perhaps not.

I think I shall speak of the dogs, as it's always about the dogs in the Addiverse. (Well, about the dogs or Madonna. It's a toss up.) Here is a photo of Freckles doing the "Stair Stare." Freckles is not one ounce amused by this particular upgrade to the house. She already had enough trouble going up and down stairs (if you actually watch her, you'd notice she hugs the wall on the right when going either direction--maybe she's blind in her left eye and needs her right eye to keep her straight and narrow) and now this. No, there is no carpet runner to be had, so she is so on her own....

....well, not really. I now carry her down the stairs. This may end up being a bad idea, as we all know my history. I will make sure to have bare feet (for sure footing--socks are like a lethal weapon on finished wooden stairs) and one hand on the railing when carrying her (she'll have to deal with not being along the right wall). In effort to ensure our safety, please do not envision us flying through the air. Please keep us grounded and safe in the Universe's eye.

Perhaps slipper socks with those little gripper things on the bottom are in order for my birthday.

The new stairs are indeed quite beautiful, so it's all good. They are not as slippery as I thought they might end up being, so that's also good. As I am still concerned for our safety (me and Freckles, that is--Lucy and the wife have it goin' on), I ordered some "stair treads," little carpet squares which are guaranteed not to slide, even though they are not tacked or glued down. Sounds way too good to be true, but after reading a bazillion reviews regarding stair treads (I did almost as much research about stair treads as I did about getting my new tires, so that says a LOT), I thought I'd give them a try. The wife approved the aesthetics of the said treads and I'll be the judge if they will work or not. I am hoping that the treads will encourage Freckles to walk down the stairs, although I am rather skeptical, as the treads won't be near the right side--they are in the middle. In the ten years we've had her, I don't think I've ever seen Freckles walk down the middle of the stairs, so this might be all for naught.

I thought about getting a really light colored-tread that would really help her discern the different steps--she also has a hard time seeing and the wood all blends into one big blog, I am sure--but, figured that wouldn't work because they'd get dirty fast (due to my feet, not her paws). I went with "toast" for the color. We'll see how that goes, too.

The wood floor installation has come to a grinding halt, as the wife has decided (mid- game) she wants to put wood floors in the entire upstairs and that means the wood has to be ordered, which will take about a month to arrive. (She must have good or weird taste--I'm not sure which--as the wood has to be special ordered.) This means we are now living in flooring limbo, as one bedroom and the stairway are done, but the hallway is not....as the hallway carpeting was ripped out in preparation for what was supposed to be finished in the original project....and, as the hallway cannot be done at this time until the bedroom is done at the same time, we are walking on cardboard boxes (flattened out and taped down, of course), which is on top of the particle board. I'm not sure how the wife will survive this, as she really doesn't like half-done things--she likes neat and tidy.....

....This is not a neat and tidy time in her life: boxes of wood are lined up in the kitchen, rooms are half done, Freckles nails make all sorts of noise on the cardboard (she wanders in circles at night), furniture isn't where it is supposed to be, nothing is exactly where is belongs. Pray for her, dearest blog readers. She is going to need it.

Poor Lucy does not mind the stairs whatsoever, but she is having one nasty case of gastro-intestinal distress that she is almost beside herself. She looks so sad and her belly keeps making all these awful noises. We won't even talk about what shot out of her butt last night--we took turns getting up with her--and she left us pretty gifts of vomit earlier in the evening. I think going to the groomer yesterday was just too much for her--ever since that dog attack a few weeks back, Lucy hasn't been the same when she sees other dogs (even Bitty Bichon makes her crazed). I suppose she could have eaten something weird along the way...the cause doesn't really matter, as long as she ends up fine in the long run (and as long as she doesn't vomit on the new wooden floor in the bedroom). Thankfully, I think her insides are pretty well emptied now, so we should have a few diarrhea-free hours. On a positive note, she looks great--the groomer always does an awesome job....too bad she reeks of vomit now, as she smelled so fresh and pretty upon her arrival home from her spa day. You know it's not a good day when Freckles smells better than Lucy.

Saturday, beautiful Saturday. Today will be spent congratulating Cheeseball Neighbor (whose softball team is crushing people like bugs and who has been named Coach of the Year--again--what a woman!), visualizing the complete and total departure of Larry Lump, grocery shopping (what am I thinking--going to the store on a holiday weekend?), watching the wife mow the lawn/wash & wax the cars/attempt to organize the house and working on that reunion blog page. I affirm this day will not involve cleaning puke or diarrhea, I promise to spend one hour or less on Book de la Face, I will plan ahead so I don't have to go up or down the news stairs unless absolutely needed. It's warm, it's sunny, it's the perfect day. The wife is already outside mowing the lawn, so Larry and I best get moving. Just watch where you step in the Addiverse today....

...shiny stairs, means stares and accidental bodily canine functions have been forecast. Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

Addi-licious

As MJagger says, "I be up in the gym, just workin' on my fitness." Yum!

BTW, Shout out to Mama China--hope you are feeling better soon!

The other day I was lamenting on Book de la Face that I wished I were Fergalicious. Caribou Grrrl immediately suggested that I was "addilicious." Loved it, had to go with it.

"Listen up y'all cause this is it...the beat that I'm bangin' is delicious....Addi-licious...make the grrrlz go loco....Addi-licious...So delicious...I ain't promiscuous....And if you was suspicious...
All that **** is fictitious. Addi-licious."

Fergie's got nothing on me.

Okay, so Fergie has an actual six pack and can do one-handed cartwheels down the catwalk and is crazy hot, but besides that, she's got nothing than me.

To keep me from, as Fergie sings, "comin' off just a little bit conceited," I shall now focus on last night's antics of being interviewed by a college freshman for a class assignment. There is nothing more humbling than having an 18 year old ask you, the 47 year old, what year you were born....and, then see the wheels turning while she tries to wrap her head around that. Let's not even mention that I'm attending my 30 year high school reunion this summer, because that REALLY didn't make sense to her....thankfully, my school ring threw her off course for a mini-second. It's hard not to focus on why this 47 year old lady is wearing her class ring for a three decade past high school experience.

Being interviewed by an 18 year old is a good reminder of how much the world has changed and how far the world has come in the past thirty or so years. It really is a whole different world. When I heard myself talking, I was thinking, "this must make no sense to her. It doesn't even seem possible. It barely makes sense to me." I was talking about something she couldn't fathom in any capacity. I'm not saying the world is better or worse--it's just so very different and my old, crusty world is nothing that makes sense to her.

Man, I hope she gets an "A" on this stupid paper.

Man, am I glad I don't have to be 18 again. It was bad enough the first time.

Man, I bet Fergie's jealous of my class ring bling. After all, she's only 13 years younger than me and my world's not that much different than hers.....

.....Four, tres, two, uno! Bling bling! Class ring! I bet she'd like to rock this class ring.

Like I said, Fergie's got nothing on me.

Friday Night's Alright for Fighting

Well, not really. I just needed a title for a blog entry written on a Friday night. It's a pot pouri of topics: no O phones, appliances, viruses and poker playing. Tough to get a title out of that. This Tattoo-bible thing has nothing to do with anything besides making me laugh. (It also makes me want to go and get another tattoo.) If you want to read the small print, just click on the photo. Rock on, Leviticus 19:28!

Note to self: I will not text or use my phone while in the car. This effort was spawned by "The big O's" campaign to address this issue (see photo here). I didn't think this would be hard at all as I really didn't think I texted very much at all when driving. I recognize it's a really dumb thing to be texting while driving. I don't even like to talk on the phone while driving (actually, I don't like talking on the phone any time but that's a whole 'nother issue), thus I thought this would be a piece of cake.

....Well, okay--I admit---I text while at stop lights but I'm not moving so that really shouldn't count.

....Um, well, I guess I do read texts while driving, but I'm just reading.....

Geez....OKAY! OKAY! I can text without looking and I admit I have texted while driving.

Since O's show, I have stopped using my phone in the car. This is much, much harder than I ever thought it would be. I finally had to just turn off my phone OR put it in the trunk as I couldn't ignore the thing if it was chirping or ringing or singing. I am rather disgusted with myself for even having to think about doing this. I hope you will join me in this effort. How awful it would be if I had an accident--or, caused an accident--because I was being so foolishly distracted. I embrace my new phone-free car and will let you know how it goes.

I am sad to report that the wife's computer has a virus. A really nasty one from a fake link she clicked on while looking for appliances. I've done all I could to save it but it's too late. The bugs are crawling all around in there. I told her to stay far away from my computer and to change all her passwords. She can drown her virused sorrows while enjoying her new appliances....because.....

It's all the oven's fault. Earlier this week, we were trying to make TGIF poppers in the oven and the dang thing wouldn't light. It's an ignition thingy problem, not a pilot light problem. As the stove is 15 years old, it's really not worth dropping the money on having some guy come put in a new ignition thingy. I say live without an oven. (It is scary how easy it would be for me to do this.) I mean, we only use the oven to make frozen pizzas and a few frozen tidbits every once in awhile. It's not like we are cooking or baking anything real in there.

The wife, on the other hand, believes that a dead oven signals the need for new appliances. She assures me (as do many a friend) that appliances need to match. (My manbrain does not grasp this concept, but I have been so chastised by friends that I am going with it--appliances match.) You can't just buy an oven--you have to buy its friends: frig, dishwasher, oven, overhead microwave.


I'm thinking not having an oven is much cheaper. I'm a simple girl. I could live without an oven and without a dishwasher. Heck, I might even be able to live without a stove. Give me a microwave the George Forman grill and I'm good to go.

The wife has been pining for stainless steel so this is her moment of glory. I won't poop on it. I will smile and nod, smile and nod (thank you for the words of wisdom, Culver Gryffendor) and enjoy the process of getting new appliances (which have already been ordered and should be here before you know it). I might even have to take up baking in order to get my money's worth out of the new oven. I'll post photos when everything is in place.....

Tomorrow night, I am going to a poker party at some guy's house. A guy from high school, to be more specific. A guy I did not hang out with in high school, who now lives out of town in the middle of cornfields, who is my FB friend via the reunion efforts. I'm going because a few other high school friends will be there and I really want to see them. Maybe I'll win enough money to pay for the new appliances, although I am not "banking" on it (pun intended) because I am not exactly full of poker prowess. The wife isn't going as she believes he is probably a psycho mass murderer who is luring us to his nest and we are all going to be killed, Jeffrey Dahmer style. She is also concerned that we are going to be arrested and thrown in prison for engaging in illegal gambling activity.

I hope she is wrong on both accounts, because if she is right, she will get no money for the new appliances. And, if she is right it is so going to suck--because each and every one of you will be able to say, "she told you so!"

At least you know I won't text or call her from my car in order to get bail money or to get help as I am running away from the psycho mass murder......

Class Ring Bling

This morning, I find my head spinning with all sorts of things from our visit to the suburbs. It was a busy few days--we were out of town not on vacation with Donny and Marie but rather with the wife's thousands of P.E. friends at a state conference--and, thus there is so much I could talk about. (The vacation is on hold for the moment. I spent my vacation money on new clothes. I'm tired of being in pain when I wear my pants. Two days off and new pants are well worth the spent money. We can keep looking for the perfect vacation while I enjoy my new pants and save up some money.) The past 48 hours have brought me much to contemplate:

***Oprah's pending retirement (the poor wife!);

***my sister's dog peeing on my new gym shoes (while I was wearing them, of course);

***Lucy puking in the car while we were driving down the tollway last night (that's always fun);

***Eldest niece locking her keys in her running car last night while we were out to eat (we tried to re-assure her we both have done that more than we care to admit--here's a photo of her leaning on the poor car while she waited for her sisters to go get the extra set of keys);

***MJagger's ankle injury prohibiting us from looking like Jillian Michaels and Fergie--MJagger is on the disabled list and can't walk/run/work out;

***P.E. professionals wearing swishy-sounding sweat-pant outfits (don't even get me started on views from the parking lot!);

***that I really am going to wear my high school class ring until my reunion this summer (as illustrated in the photo--POW POW!);

***how surprisingly fun it turned out to be meeting with people I haven't seen in 30 years (with many of whom I didn't know when I was 30 years younger).

I'll focus on my pending high school class ring. Side note: I get confused--I've been talking about this ring bling non-stop on Book de la Face but not in the blog. It took me til this morning to realize that--in fact, I was really surprised I hadn't been blogging about this. So, if you read both this blog and my Book de la Face comments (god love you for reading both), humor me. If you are not my friend on Book de la Face, learn of the ring bling here. Then, ask yourself why you are not my friend on Book de la Face. What's up with that?

In honor of this summer's 30 year high school class reunion, I have decided to wear my class ring from now until then. There is something quite humorous seeing a 47 year old lady sporting class ring bling. Isn't it funny--you pay all sorts of money for the ring, you can't live without having a class ring when you are in high school, you wear the ring through college....and, then all of a sudden one day you no longer wear it, your friends aren't wearing theirs and you put it in some box, never to be seen again.

Well, I am here to change that.

I dug that puppy out of the dark, dusty corner of the jewelry box, stuffed it on my finger and have proudly displayed it for the past week. I have no intention of taking it off until July 12, 2010 (and, even then I might not take it off because that thing is on their snug as a bug in a rug--I'm not sure I'll be able to pry it off). I haven't really had any comments to my face about it. Every time I look at my hand, it makes me laugh--I mean, come on! I'm wearing my high school class ring!

I love my class ring. Always have. I wonder why we stop wearing them?

I was surprised to see that I had a softball player on my ring, not a band symbol of sorts. While I loved softball, I loved band much more--I spent most of my free time in the band room, I was better at band than sports, the majority 0f my friends were in the band, I was a band officer and the head of the goon squad (don't ask), I ate lunch in the band room every day, the only bathroom I ever peed in during high school was in the band room....band was incredibly important to me; so, why the softball player instead of a band geek? If I remember correctly, I chose the softball lady because it looked a lot better than the band thing for the ring. It's about aesthetics, people!

My ring is made of ultrium. I have no idea what ultrium is but I know it's much cheaper than gold and it's held up very well over the years. I am really, really hard on jewelry and I am here to tell you that this stuff has held up to the challenge. I believe my ring cost $79.00, which was hundreds of dollars cheaper than the gold version. Again, this was the right decision. I'm sure I would have ruined or lost the ring had it been made of actual gold.

A bunch of high school alums--via Book de la Face--decided to meet at a sports bar & grill in the suburbs. (This reunion thing has us all sentimental, I guess.) Since we were already going to be in town for the wife's convention and since I am already wearing my high school class ring, this seemed to be the perfect thing to do. The wife and I went to the bar, only to be the first ones to arrive--well, we weren't sure if we were first or not, as I hadn't seen these people in 30 years and wasn't sure who I was looking for. Because I am terminally punctual, we were there at exactly the time specified; this means we got to stand around and look stupid for 20 or more minutes until someone else showed up. Thankfully, I recognized them and we were able to start our evening.

About 20 people showed up for the event, half of whom I had never spoke to during high school, which is fine because now that we are not in high school, we are nice to each other. It was a fun evening, showing off the ring, talking about this or that, having a few good laughs. Here is a photo of someone trying to steal my class ring right off my hand....of course, he couldn't get it off because it is stuck on that finger, but it was fun seeing him try.....thank you to Clara Net for taking this (and other) photos of the event....

There was only one guy who "acted" in a way I was afraid many might act. He was an athlete who never once uttered a word to me during my entire tenure during high school. Mr. Jock would not be the type to know any band geeks and I certainly wasn't cute/pretty/cheerleaderish, so there was no need for him to waste his time talking to me--or, even knowing someone like me might exist. At the end of the night, he walked up to me & the wife.....he said, "I thought this was for (insert name of high school here) alums." I think he was trying to be funny, but he had this weird look on his face and he wasn't very funny to me. I assured him I was from our class. He asked, "Do you know who I am?" I wanted to say, "of course I know who you are--you were a basketball star who had no time for band geeks and persons who graduated in the top two percent of the class!" but, instead acknowledged knowing who he was, politely assuring him that he would not have known me. I grabbed my year book, opened the page to him, pointed him out. A few of us milling about had a laugh about this (he had a good photo, lucky dog). As he still looked confused, I opened the page to my picture and pointed myself out. He had a blank look on his face, then muttered, "Nope. I don't know who you are." Mr. Jock looked at the wife, looked at me, looked at the wife and looked very, very confused. He thankfully walked away at this point, uttering not another word.

I should have punched him with my class ring bling.

This 30-second event in no way tarnished a very fun evening. I am happy to report that 30 years has a happy way of addressing the stupidity of youth--everyone is normal and nice and no longer cliquish. It's okay for the cheerleaders to talk to the band people who are talking to the athletes who are talking to nerds...because we are no longer these things in real life. We are people that have one thing in common: we are alums of our beloved high school.

Well.....we have TWO things in common: we are alums AND we we have class rings.

May I suggest we all wear our class rings and be proud. POW POW! Go ahead, dig your class ring out and wear it for a week. See what happens......
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Closure

This photo of madonna has nothing to do with anything except that if you look reeeeeeally closely, you'll see Freckles Warrior Princess and Lucy Bark of Poteidaia on her t-shirt. Is that hilarious or what? God, I love computers.

I have plenty of time to write this blog, as the wife is busy being miserable while watching the Packer/Viking game. Her misery is twofold: she hates Brett Favre/entire Vikings franchise; and, her sciatic nerve is out of control, so she can't stand up straight/sit comfortably/move fast/move at all. I highly doubt watching the game will help her sciatic nerve (or, her well being or her blood pressure or anything in general). The game would have been bad enough without the physical pain....I am going to sit quietly in the corner and type and say, "Yes, Dear" whenever applicable.

Shameless plug: By the way, if you want to read a book my cousin wrote, go to Lulu.com and search "Offing Miss Nevada." Five bucks for a downloaded copy of her first novel. I downloaded my own copy and will let you know what I think. Remember, tho: if you buy a copy of her book, you BETTER buy a copy of my book when it is in print. I'm counting on you, beloved blog readers.


The 25th college reunion has come and gone. Although only three of us from the Class of 1984 managed to make it back to campus, it went swimmingly and fun was had by all. I gotta tell ya, though--the Class of 1979 looked like they were having an awesome time. Music, tent, gatherings....Good for you, party alums! The Class of '84 could learn a thing or two from you.

I am happy to report that the wife and I had plenty of time to hang out with Alum 2/3 and 3/3 on Saturday afternoon and evening. We had time to walk around the campus (albeit in the rain), participate in the taping of alumni telling tales of their days at the school, hang out in one of the student lounges, and....plenty of time to make amends and find closure. As Alum 3/3 said, "it meant a lot to me to come back to campus and have some closure--you and I are both very different people than we were back then--or, better, we kept the best part of ourselves and allowed the rest to grow the hell up."

Ain't that the truth.

When Alum 3/3 says we are different people than we were in college, she isn't kidding! It's not about jobs or master degrees or types of cars--we are different, better people. Although I'm an alumna-slug , I like to believe I am relatively stable, much nicer, much more socially conscious, much more reflective, definitely healthier. Alum 3/3 is in a much better place, is an eloquent speaker, incredibly knowledgeable, profoundly comfortable in her own skin. I sense Alum 2/3 has found a sort of peace. (If you're wondering, I'd say college found one of us a loud drama queen, one of us a drunken ball of emotions and one of us a confident-less, quiet loner. I'll leave it to you and your imagination to figure out who's who.)

Alas, youth really is wasted on the young. :-)

I like the word "closure." I've been thinking about what word might sum the reunion up and that's it...so, thanks Alum 3/3. I have a lot of amends to make and I'm glad these two classmates didn't pound the piss out of me when we re-united. I would have deserved it. (Thank you for being kind.) It's always a wonderful opportunity when there is a chance to find closure and to make amends. (I'm really, really am sorry I hid in the back of a closet during that really loud dorm party so you wouldn't see me when it was my job to stop the party. More importantly, I'm really, really sorry I was a jerk.)

Enough sappy dribble. Let's go back to the wife and her Monday Night Football game. I think the wife is seeking closure about Brett Favre betraying the Packers. I think she'll find it if the guy throws a bunch of interceptions and the Vikings lose. Or, she'd be happy if the Pack knocks the pound the piss out of ol' Purple Number Four. He can go back to Lambeau Field for a reunion but he can forget about making amends--those Packer Fans aren't EVER going to forgive him.
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Alum-na-slug

Before I get to homecoming reporting, I need to speak of Madonna's newest album, "Celebration." How I have failed to mention it before today is beyond me. I may lose my status as a Madonna Whore for such ridiculousness. Here I am, holding the poster included with the CD. I'm not sure why Madge picked this particular image, but she did and thus I am displaying it with true blue Madonna pride.

My only complaint is, "Ester, why do you continue to boycott the song, 'Rain?' I don't get it. The song has an incredibly awesome video, it's a fabulous song, you sound great on it, it's one of your many hits....and, yet you continue to ignore it. What memory does it have that you refuse to include it anywhere? Is it like rain, rain go away? You know, you could leave that stupid La Isle Bonita song off one of your tours or greatest hits album and put 'Rain' in its place--no one would be the wiser. Please--don't dis the Rain!"

As for the first of many 25th-year homecoming/reunion events this weekend, I am happy to report that last night's dinner & awards ceremony went swimmingly and very fun, full of memories. There are only three classmates from my graduating class participating in the event, despite this being our 25th reunion/homecoming. We three are an interesting mix because we really didn't know each other (and certainly didn't hang out with each other) while at our alma mater, which is actually weird because our school is so small (only 300 or so people lived on campus back then) and you'd think we'd have known each other better despite having diverse interests. As for the lack of 1984 alum-returnees-for-the-reunion, I don't get that almost as I don't get the whole Rain/Madonna thing; there are many alums still in the area....I mean, for gosh sakes, if an alum from our class flew in from New York, can't ya drive seven minutes from your house?

Anyways, the wife and I got all doodied up (she insisted I not wear jeans and a t-shirt, so I donned a business suit with school-themed-colored turtleneck, accented by a pair of my "work shoes") and we wandered in to the social hour. The wife, by the way, really dislikes such events. She wants to stand in a corner, unnoticed. None of this socializing for her. It's like pulling teeth to get her to these things, even though she always ends up having fun. (For the record, the wife was correct about my attire--everyone was wearing business suits or nice pants outfits or other non-jean-fashions.) For visual purposes, picture me wearing a name tag with a big silver ribbon with silver writing hanging from it, proclaiming this to be my 25th year homecoming. (Oh dear, I wasn't anticipating the broadcast of my silver anniversary.) Gift bag in hand, we wandered the crowd looking for a familiar face.

The wife knew several people, as she works at our alma mater. (I'm not sure if that was helpful or not for her.) We found Alum 2/3 (I get to be Alum 1/3, as it's my blog) and quickly settled in to catching up and sharing stories. It's a small world and since she still lives in the area, it turns out we have mutual acquaintances. There were a few moments I think we were all incredulous in relation to this small world thing. Alum 3/3 and gal pal didn't show up until we were seated for dinner, but you can't blame her as she was traveling from New York and flew in to O'Hare, which is always entertaining and certainly never on time.

As it was quite the crowd, Alum 2/3, the wife and I grabbed a table, saving seats for Alum 3/3 and gal pal. As there were three chairs left, three strangers plopped down at the table (grads from the late 60's, that's all I'll say, to protect their guilt); one lone guy and a husband/wife team. The lone guy seemed friendly and normal enough--business casual kind of guy, fun stories, approachable, cool glasses. He had many accomplishments, had traveled the world, was known in many upper circles, etc. yet he was still down to earth and certainly not there to impress the five ladies seated at "his" table. The couple, on the other hand, were definitely ready to impress the crowd--not by their looks but rather through their stories, accolades, accomplishments, contacts and experiences. The wife was very meek and mild and had little, if anything to say; she left it all up to her husband. Ugh! Mr. Husband-alum was all puffed up, talking about his incredible accomplishments--in college and after graduation, business ventures, this and that experience, world conquests. All I wanted to do was talk to Alum 2/3 and 3/3 but this guy was interfering with my efforts. Yes, he had stories that merited sharing (to someone else besides me), but I really didn't care that he returned to Italy 25 years after going there in college and getting a personal tour from some famous Italian or that he opened a senior day care in Japan or that he.....blah blah blah. He was boring. Someone else sharing these tales might have made it much more palatable. Thankfully, the wife got stuck talking to him most of the time, while us three Alums shared stories of our antics while in college and our experiences since graduating.

Did I mention the sexual orientation of we five ladies seated at the table? If not, you go right ahead and guess. I'll give you a clue--the meek and mild wife looked shell-shocked by the end of dinner. It wasn't planned this way and it certainly wasn't related to the reason any of us came to the reunion--it was a nice "surprise" to us.....but, not such a nice surprise to the mortified meek/mild wife. Alumna-wife had nothing to say. Nothing. She just kept that half smile plastered on her face, eyes turned toward the table, shell-shock glaze covering her whole being.

As I listened to the various alums receive their awards, I began to realize: I am an alum slug. These people have done all sorts of truly amazing things; I basically get tattoos, whine about my weight, lust my chiropractor and write a blog. My master's degree, middle management job and board-membership on one local not-for-profit board paled in comparison to the people on stage.

Slug, slug, slug!

Now, I am not complaining one bit about my life, because I am one lucky, happy camper and truly have a wonderful life. It's just that I haven't exactly accomplished the things these overachievers have pounded out, year after year. They weren't braggy or showy--they were just amazing people who happened to graduate from the same school as me. I know, I know--accomplishments aren't everything.....but, when you are sitting there, it's hard not to feel like a slug. I kept thinking, "these people graduated from my college?" From almost unbelievable missionary & volunteer work to major television top executives, it was a parade of incredible people.

Sigh. Slug. I am an alumna-slug. Such a small cog in such a big world.

To my delight, my alumna-slug-ness was wiped right off the map when the five of us decided to go to Shake-the-steak for ice cream and milk shakes. It was back to the real world, with real people. Despite it being 11 PM, I downed a delish hot fudge sundae (against all food rules I have to eat so late) and enjoyed the tales being spun. Before I knew it, it was almost midnight and my brain had turned to a sugar-saturated ball of mush and we had to end the evening. We bid adieu and made plans to meet mid-afternoon on Saturday.

Each of us took such different "things" from our college days; each of us had such different experiences. Each of us are very different--and, yet the same-- as we were 25 years ago. We look the same in many ways; yet we look different (and, that grey hair we all have betrays our internal youth!). We all ended up in such different places but, no matter where we go or where we've been, we will always have that one thing in common: our college.

And, for that, I am grateful, alumna-slug or not.
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Coming Home

Ah, yes--homecoming weekend. A tradition for many, a trauma for some, a non-event for most no longer in school. Eldest niece, a junior in high school, will be going to her school's homecoming this weekend. Hope she has lots of fun and no drama. High schoolers today have the right idea--if you don't get asked to the dance, you go as a big group. Even if you do get asked to go to the dance, you can still go with a big group. No sitting home and feeling sorry for yourself, no getting left behind, no feeling like a loser or lonely girl. It's equal opportunity dancing. What a great concept!

To all you high school homecoming participants: Be safe! Have fun! Don't drive drunk. Don't chew gum when wearing braces. (I just threw that it there for my niece. As I was an orthodontic assistant in a previous life, I believe it is my moral obligation to warn braces-wearing persons of dangers related to gum-chewing.)

It's my homecoming weekend, too.....I'm dragging the wife to my 25th college reunion/homecoming weekend. As you can imagine, she is so excited she could just pee. (I think going to this event is right about "gouge my eyes out with hot pokers" on her things to do list.)

I know, I know--you just cannot believe I am old enough to have graduated 25 years ago. Well, I did start college when I was seven years old....

To get you in the mood for college homecoming babbling, I've included the photo of our senior year dorm t-shirt. Please ignore the stain on the shirt--after all, the shirt IS 25 years old AND survived a year in college. I drew this image, which features our Resident Assistant and a flock of unexplained farm animals (complete with a pig with a wig). Notice the chickens are drinking TAB soda--I am truly aging myself. For those of you who are wondering: I will NOT be wearing this shirt to this weekend's homecoming activities at the college. Yes, it would still fit--I weighed a lot more in college than I do now, so that's a good thing....I gained the "Freshmen Fifty" instead of the Freshman 15, which means I have plenty of room in that shirt if I wanted to wear it now. Maybe the wife will want to wear it....

High school homecoming meant marching in the band during half time at the football game (which was awesome, I might add). We'd do a special marching routine designed to make a big heart around the homecoming queen. I know--gag. Worse than the heart, the band captain would lay this gross, wet, obscene kiss on the poor queen. How or why that tradition started, I do not know. I think we also did a rendition of "Let me call you sweetheart," but I might be delirious. Anyway, the game was awesome....the homecoming dances were the traumatic part. I was only asked to go to the dance my senior year dance and thus had to sit home and mope the other three years. I think the pain of not being asked to attend the high school homecoming dance was exasperated by hormones AND because I could see the high school out our back window...which means I watched the people in their formal wear entering the school to enjoy the dance. You didn't go to the dance unless you had a date and I can't say dates were flocking to my door.

Side note: You could NEVER pay me enough to return to high school age. NEVER. Don't even get me started on the whole homecoming court trauma.

I have never gone back to high school to attend any high school homecoming events. I suppose there is still time, but if I haven't done so in 29 years, I don't think I'll be starting this year. Maybe I'll ask my Book de la Face friends if any of them return to the Mecca every year.

When I went to college, homecoming was much different. We didn't have a football team--we had a soccer team--we didn't have a band, no one was slobbing kisses on the homecoming queen and there was no painful dance to not be invited to. I can't say I remember many alumni ever showing up for homecoming weekend back then, but that doesn't mean they weren't there--it means I was too drenched in alcohol to notice. Being that it was such a small college and being that there was no official dance that I know of, homecoming was a fun event. I even got to be on the Homecoming Court--that's how little the school was.

I have been to many college homecoming/reunions, as I always partake in the softball alumni/student softball game (see previous blogs, complete with photos). I am way too smart (and too old) to play, so I spend my time coaching one of the bases, harassing the current students, and making obnoxious announcements on the loud speaker. It's a great event, not only because it's fun but also because softball is how the wife and I met and thus it's always nice trip down memory lane. (It's always those damned sports.)

When the wife is less than enthusiastic about the homecoming/reunion dinner, I remind her that I paid $20 a person for us to eat cafeteria food, so we are going and we are eating and we are going to have a good time. I don't think I'll see many alumni from my era, so that's not the draw. I already can see the college whenever I want--the wife works there and it's only a few miles away. I still see the people I'd like to see. There's still no marching band, but....

......there IS a football team.....

and, there is a homecoming queen....

and, one of my peers will be flying in from New York, so it will be nice to see her..... (Actually, we are the only two people from the class of 1984 to register for the weekend)......

.....and, the wife and I will have the chance to eat dinner in the cafeteria, which I find super romantic......

....I don't have to wear a dress.....

.....it will give me oodles of good fodder for the blog.....

....and, it will take the wife's mind off of the upcoming Packer/Vikings game this weekend. THAT makes it worth every minute. Suck it up, Purple Favre.
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Happy Homecoming, DKM! Kiss kiss.
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That's Doctor Prom Date to you

Before I speak of my high school prom date, I thought I'd share a horrible phone photo of Lucy. How often can you get a photo of your dog sticking its tongue out at you? If the photo doesn't make you laugh (or, at least wonder what the hell is wrong with Lucy...or, with me), you need to take a nap and eat more chocolate.

Before I speak of my prom date, I confess that I have reached an all-time low in the "I'm so sporty" department: I hurt my knee while putting a Jillian Michael's DVD into the DVD player this evening. One minute, I was having thoughts of doing something stupid like doing a 20 minute cardio workout; the next, I was bent over in pain, wondering what the hell just happened. I think it was a sign from God: "STEP. AWAY. FROM. THAT. WORKOUT. TAPE!" I know better than to do a Jillian tape--history shows such behavior increased my butt size, trashed my knee and toyed with my brain. I admit my motivation wasn't that I thought I'd get a better work out than going for a walk....no, I was being lazy. Twenty minutes of Jillian is a lot faster than three miles of walking around the neighborhood. Bad idea, as evidenced by my aching knee. I don't know what happened, but I felt it and there is no denying I am in need of my beloved lady chiropractor. Something in my knee is out of whack and this upsets me.

Before I speak of my prom date, I also wanted to share this photo of Freckles Warrior Princess, as taken by Cheeseball Neighbor and ChiSky Grrrrl. This is Freckles enjoying a Cubs chair, quite to the dismay of the Milwaukee-Brewer-loving wife. Freckles is Cubby-Blue fan from whelp. When the grrrrrlz visit Brown Dog and the neighbors, they are treated to a royal Cubs fest. Yum! They report that Freckles didn't get out of this chair for two full hours. Unfortunately, Freckles is back to being a smelly, itchy, bloody, yeasty, eye-boogered canine, miserable with dog allergies. (She was allergy-free when seated in this chair, so no worries about that.) It's the rust in the grass-- that red fungus that shows up every August. It makes her miserable. It's not like she can avoid grass. We limit her grass time but we have to walk a little every day or she'll give new meaning to her nickname "Fatty Patty." Benadryl barely touches it. A visit to the cat doctor can't be far away.....

Finally! About that prom date. I am in the midst of searching for long lost classmates (for our upcoming high school reunion) and realized that I had not found my prom date. I'm not sure he wants to be found (especially by me), but I thought at least a Google search would be in order. So, I sat at my desk at the place of which I do not speak, trying to remember how to spell his last name....is there or isn't there a "z" in it? Is it a "K" or a "C?" So many lost brain cells, so little time....

Before I get to what I found, I'd like to share a little background about Dr. Prom Date.

There were 600 students in our graduating class. Dr. Prom Date was Number One. Valedictorian. A gentleman scholar who was in the band, I might add. If you are gonna get a prom date, why not go for the top dog? He was one smart cookie--put me to shame. Now, I was a not-so-shabby Number Four, a sporty nerd, also in the band--but, I had nothing on him. Nothing.

Suffice it to say it is about ten zillion miles between number one and number four.

How we came to be prom dates is beyond me, but I'm glad we went to the big show together because he really was a nice guy and I really had a good time, even though he had to be home by 1 A.M. Doctor Prom Date was the perfect guy, from bouquet to white tux to the day-after Great America trip. It was nerd heaven!

So, once I remember how to spell his last name, I find Dr. Prom Date on Google. I thought he might have found his calling as a priest or medical doctor, but he's found his way into the sciences and engineering--which doesn't surprise me, even though it would have been great fodder if he had indeed become a priest. Scrolling through the google results, I'm sure it's him after seeing his credentials...yup, correct college....yup, correct master's level program....yup, that's his home town. I start reading about what he's been up to and my eyes start to glaze over. The words don't even sound like English. I write blogs with poor grammar and tacky photos of my dogs; he publishes things about corrosion inhibition apparatus blah blah thermocouples in situ heating dirt blah blah blah.

I have no idea what any of this means except that he paid attention in Physics class and I didn't. (Don't even get me started about Physics class.)

Number one....to number four: the friggin' Grand Canyon, in this case. Now, I'm not saying I'm some dummy; I'm just saying that's quite a leap from where I'm standing. Good for you, Doctor Prom Date! I am psyched to say I was your date...and, have pictures to prove it.

I have many questions for him, the first of which will be, "what the hell is a implantable goniometer and does your mother know about this?" I will then ask him about his life, if he now wears jeans and what his adventures have included over the past thirty years. I'll ask the obligitory questions about family and such....after that, I'll convince him to attend our class reunion. Maybe he can wear a white tux for the event....I'll wear a dress if he wears a tux.......

....as long as he leaves his implantable goniometer at home.
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High School Book de la Face Flashback

A funny and unexpected phenomenon is occurring right before my very eyes. Ever since joining Book de la Face (and I am up to 72 friends, so watch out!), I have been getting friend requests from people I went to high school with. Why high school friends are joining Book de la face at this exact moment is beyond me, but it's happening on a daily basis. Contact from old high school peers is usually fun and serves as a great trip down memory lane. (I confess that a few requests are from people I didn't recognize or who I cannot believe would want to be my friend now as they certainly did not want to be my friend in high school. Then, there are those old boy friends. They request to be my friend, read my profile and remove me as a friend. Good for me!)

An even stranger phenomenon is that the majority of people I am reconnecting with are from the band. I always knew that the band members were the cool ones, although I am sure the majority of our peers thought otherwise. I always thought I was the only one who loved being in band, being in the band room, hanging out with the band nerds, but I have now learned otherwise. It's not like we sat around and talked about the camaraderie of the band. I knew that these were my people, the ones that accepted me for who I was, the ones who understood each me, the ones that didn't bully each other. One of the first things I learned in high school is that using the "real" bathrooms was not a very safe or good option. The second thing I learned is that the band room bathrooms were always safe, clean and inviting. No smoking problem, no bullies, no drugs, no mean girls. Another thing I learned is that the band room was a great place to eat lunch, mostly for the same reasons.

The entries in Book de la Face over the past week have revolved around two topics: band as a sanctuary and powder blue gym suits (with our names sewn on them with thick white thread)/gym class in general. Oh, those gym suits--hideous. Gym class in general was hideous, although my athletic prowess came in handy during those classes. I suppose we should include the "share a bathing suit" portion of gym class as part of our flashbacks--how gross is it that they used to have us SHARE bathing suits? You always wanted to be one of the first ones to the pool locker room so you had a shot at getting a swimsuit that actually fit in some form or fashion. Heaven help you if you were late during the last gym class of the day--you were SOOOO stuck what ever was left over. The powder blue jump suits were just as hideous but at least they were your own. We were supposed to take them home every week but I am here to tell you that was not the case--in fact, I think some people went the whole year without washing them. Yes, that led to a funky stink but the lockers made them stink, anyways so I suppose in the long run it really didn't matter.

I am stunned at the number of people who mention that they ate lunch in the band room. I never thought about it until I started reading the posts. One of the other band officers (yes, I was a band officer--queen of the band nerds) wrote about the band room being a "sanctuary" and he is right--it was. I went to the band room whenever cutting Algebra II, when I had free time, when I had lunch, when I was avoiding something else, when I was in study hall, when I had to pee, when I was waiting for something, when I had the actual band class, after school, in the evenings when there was band practice. I was in the "regular" band, the orchestra, the jazz band and the memorial band. Heaven!

Thinking back, band helped me gain some semblance of sanity in a crazy, hormone-filled, overwhelming time when no one knows who they really are or what the hell they are doing. Being the moody mess that I was, band was the glue that held me together. I don't think I can thank them enough. When I think about it, I am still surprised I chose to go to a college without a band.

I jokingly have suggested that we should have our next high school reunion in the band room. The more I think about it, the more I think it might be a great idea. We could fill that room without effort.

It has been wonderful to hear from the band. The varied stories of what is happening in everyone's life right now are delightful. Married, divorced, widowed, partnered. Kids, no kids, kids who have serious illness, kids who didn't make it. Evangelical to pagan, ultra-conservative to flamboyantly liberal. High school diploma to doctorate. We all turned out so different yet we will always be the same: we were all in the band and THAT will always tie us together....

Band nerds, unite! And, thank you for keeping my sanity in tact. I owe you one.

Status Report from the Addiverse

Welcome to new readers! (Like all two of you.)

Attention all "old" readers: Make sure you click on my Adsense thingies (to the right) after reading and digesting this blog entry. The more you click, the more pennies I can make. It's a start.

Catching up all those weekly and not so weekly readers....here's your official summary what's up in the Addiverse.

Farve is still a Jet.

Wife is still in Misery.

Phone is re-connected.

Cat, Cat, Cat: it'll be okay after lots of therapy and a lot of beer. (We love you. Come back to Rockford and feel the love. Piss on international softball.)

Freckles is still smelly.

Lucy is still licking & keeping the wife up at night.

Joe Biden?

Bats still flitting around MJagger's house. Second round of rabies shots tomorrow. No one sleeping.

Re-pierced ears are healing. (Um, never did really talk about that. I got bored last Saturday and thought, "hey, why don't I ever wear earrings any more?" I then decided to use some old posts to re-pierce my ears. My advice to you is do not ever do this. It hurts like a bitch and it hurts like a bitch. Bad, bad, bad. I am now stuck wearing eighth-grade- looking-posts until the blood stops oozing out of my lobes.)

Butt still growing.

Jillian Michael's daily work out not shreddeding me. (Sigh. It's not that I'm not doing the workouts--it's age. If I were doing these workouts 20 years ago, I'd have a rockin' body thing going on. Since it's not 20 years ago, I'm in good shape but I'm never gonna be ripped or shredded or whatever; I am gonna be in good shape with cheesy wiblets and a great glute of which I did not want.)

Madonna tickets still secure.

Closet door still shut.

Friends laughing about this development.

Made a "Facebook" page update.

Only have three friends in "Facebook."

Wife Family reunion picnic tomorrow.

Favre still a Jet.

And thus, you are updated in the Addiverse.

Hope you have a great weekend! Kiss kiss.