Don't hate on the girls with big boobs.

Except for this chick. She's a whore.



Yorkie posted ^^this^^ spectacular pic yesterday and I was reminded of a rant.

We've talked about my knockers on here many times, have we not? I've written about my uplifting bra experience as well as the time I freaked out about my nipple rings at my mammogram. Oh, by the way, mark your calendars, as Rip has...



(Isn't he the best? I just love that guy to pieces.)

My follow-up mammogram is on May 14th. Plan accordingly.

Anyway, recently I got a gift card in the mail to the store where Swamp Thing works. Actually, I don't know if she still works there, but last I heard, she did, so I was kinda torn. I have almost gotten through the entire school year without seeing her (fingers crossed!!), so I tried to go on a non- Mom's Day Out day so she'd most likely be home.

I decided to check out the bras. It looked like there were some really cute ones.





Sure there are cute ones, if you're a C cup...



or a B cup...



or an A cup...



or even a "Nearly A". (I'm sorry... NEARLY A??!!?)




Here's what comes in MY SIZE.



Sexy as HELL, right?

It pisses me off to no end because the cute bra thing is kind of a big deal to me. I have a love/hate thing going with my boobs. I kinda like my boobs better when I'm dressed. I love how fantastic they look under a tight sweater or a low-cut blouse.

But aesthetically, I don't think they're that pretty, close up and nekkid. Come to think of it, penises really aren't that attractive to me, either. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my porn n' all, it's just that everybody's naughty bits are kinda weird-lookin, aren't they?

Before I had kids, my boobs were perky and Girls Gone Wild awesome. I wish I'd pierced my nips back then. At age 38, I'm slightly asymmetrical and I've got stretchmarks, veins, and nipple hairs goin' for me. I'm just layin' it out there for y'all. We're all friends here.

Usually, by the time I have my top off, I'll give ya a minute to check out my rack if my bra is cute, and then the lights are going off. You either get to see my boobs while encased in my cute bra, or you get to fondle them in the dark. Only a very privileged few have seen my al fresco nipplage.

So what I'm sayin' is, I count on the cute bra/panty ensembles to feel hella sexy under my clothes, cuz once the clothes are off, don't ogle me or I'll get self-conscious and it'll totally kill the moment. Just cut to the chase.

I get that the little boobies types feel the same way, perhaps - that the packaging is important - but you girls have so much better selection and variety available to you. Why would you want to get implants so your selection becomes white, black, or beige? I don't get that at all.

Itty bitties, I got nuthin against y'all, really. I know you have nothing to do with the complete lack of styles available to the larger girls. It's probably MEN in charge of this disparity, and don't a lot of those men LIKE the big'ns? Why do the bra makers gotta make my life suck?? Having Bodacious ChiChis is no picnic. Trust me.

Oh, and while I'm ranting, can we PLEASE, as a society, come up with some universally accepted standard of the heirarchy between Ultra, Ultimate, Super, and Absolute? Between bra support level and feminine hygiene product absorption level, I'm just fuckin lost. Do guys deal with that, in any aspect of life?



Seriously. Write your congress(wo)man.

The end of an era.

One summer morning, a few years ago, I woke up to the sound of R mowing the lawn. I wanted to make sure little Tito, who was maybe three or four at the time, wasn't outside where he could get hurt. I went into the living room where Beebie and Pie were watching TV. Tito wasn't there.

I looked to see if he was still sleeping. Nope.

Then my Mommy Worst Case Scenario mode kicked in and I ran outside to see if he'd been hit by a truck.

This is what I saw -







It was so precious. He was helping Daddy mow. The broken Bubble Mower that I had gotten at a Yard Sale for 25 cents didn't blow bubbles anymore, but cut the grass just as well as Daddy's mower, in Tito's mind. He was so proud of himself. He was Daddy's Little Man.







That entire summer, and the two subsequent summers, every time Tito heard R's mower start up, he'd gasp, "Oh! I have to go help Dad!!" and beeline it out to the garage where he'd grab his little Bubble Mower and follow along behind as R mowed the entire lawn.

Both Beebie and Pie asked me separately if Tito realized his mower wasn't really doing anything, and I told them not to tell him because he was having fun helping Dad and it made him feel really important. Plus it was just so damn cute.

Last weekend was the first weekend it was warm enough to mow and the grass was high enough to cut, so when R announced that he'd be mowing the grass, Tito ran to the garage to get the supercool Talking Mower that Santa brought him to replace the Bubble Mower.

And I suddenly felt a little bit like telling him, "Tito, Dude... come on... the shit doesn't work, it was cute when you were three, now you're six. It used to be cute, and now it's just kinda pitiful."

I almost stopped him, but I thought I should just let him have his fun. And just then he came running up to me saying, "Hey, MOM!!! This stupid thing doesn't even WORK!! It doesn't even mow the grass at all! It's just a crappy TOY MOWER!!!!"

He stomped away angrily.

And I knew, in that instant, my baby was gone.

My Mini-rant / Astute Observation on Parenting.

I discovered long ago that the written transcript of my life includes basically the same sentences several times each day. This collection of sentences in my parental arsenal is like a carpenter's toolbox. It's like Rambo's M60. It helps me do my job.


Although the specific words may vary slightly, the sentiment behind them usually falls within the scope of Shock, Disbelief, Frustration, and Defeat.

Here are a few examples of what I'm talking about:


How did the (foreign substance) get (preposition) the (noun)?


Oh, (adjective) (deity), why can't you (verb) like a normal person?


Do I even want to know why you'd put a (noun) in a (appliance)?


For (expletive)'s sake, will you stop (verb ending in -ing) so (adverb ending in -ly)?


You can not tell your (relative) to (verb) himself.


Did you just give a (snack food) to a (wild animal)?


No, we're not going to the (fun place); we're going to the (boring place).


If you (verb) in (house of worship) (number) more times, I'm going to (verb) your (body part) so (adverb), it'll be (color) for (number) (measurement of time).


You gotta be (expletive) (expletive) (expletive) kidding me.




I call these Mommy Mad Libs.

Welcome To My Nightmare.

I go through brief periods where I do a lot of in-the-moment blogging which pushes the other things that I meant to talk about onto the back burner. Perhaps if I had twelve pairs of hands, maybe I could simultaneously type all of the stories that run through my head concurrently.

Here are a few of the stories I'm currently formulating:

I have a funny picture I want to post for your amusement, but it's not time-sensitive so I'm saving it for a slow news day.

Kevin and I recently conducted a very scientific experiment, and I feel obligated to share the results.

I have a rant I'm working on. Or two. One is one of those everyday things that moms deal with, another's about bra shopping.

I should also tell you of my new business venture and how I decided to venture into it.

And I have GOT to find the right way to publicly proclaim Pam's awesomeness. Seriously, the magnatude of her coolness challenges the lexophile in me.

Oh, and I should draw alla y'all's attention to Kevin's blog today, and to my comment in response. I would really love a little support for my side of the argument, if you agree.


But all of these must be tabled temporarily because today I'm writing about what a fucking dumbass I am. Because as much as I make fun of other people on my blog, you have to agree, I make fun of myself even more.

If you followed the above link to Kev's blog, you probably saw that The Racers came over to hang out last night. The picture shows the AFTER pic of the patio. The Racers were coming over for beverages and it was a beautiful evening, so we put a fire in the fire pit and sat out drinking for a few hours.

You know how sometimes when you're cleaning, you kinda have to make the mess worse before you can make it better? That was the entire theme of yesterday. Everything I did turned uncovered something else that needed doing. I raked up leaves and found earthworms as big around as my pinky finger. Worms really don't bother me because I know they're not going to sting me or bite me or hurt me, so I just move them to the grass and watch them wiggle away.

While I was raking, I picked up an icky old outside doormat that had been untouched all winter. I picked it up to throw it away in the garage, and when I came back I saw this:



Yes, I had disturbed a nest of flying ants. I sprayed the ants, washed them off the house with the hose, and ten minutes later, a second swarm, with as many members as the first, came out too. I sprayed them as well, leaving hundreds of little winged carcasses stuck to the patio. It was fuckin disgusting.

I lamented on Facebook that this day could not be over soon enough.

I also told my FB BFF's about the bird that got stuck in my garage.



Birds freak my ass OUT. Especially when I've just experienced bugs in Hitchcockian numbers. I'm always afraid they're gonna swoop down and rip out a vein in my neck, and isn't that all I fuckin need. Why couldn't he go out on the patio and have his lil ol' self a snack?

I apparently scared the shit out of him when I pressed the button on the garage door opener.




So I thought that between the flying ants and the bird that freaked me out and pooped on my garage door, I was having a supercrappy day. Until one of my aforementioned FB friends (whom I met through Kevin, come to think of it), informed me that I was actually dealing not with flying ants, but with TERMITES.

You probably knew that as soon as I said Flying Ants, didn't you? I feel like such a moron.

And instantly my day went from supercrappy to UltraMegaSuperDuperDeluxeCrappy.

The difference between Ultra, Super, Mega, Extra, and Ultimate is actually a sub-rant of my bra rant. It's a rant within a rant, but you bitches'll have to wait.

Flying ants = TERMITES. Duh.

So just for fun I peeled off a little of that hideous wallpaper in the kitchen that I wanted to get rid of anyway, and found THIS.



Isn't that the ugliest wallpaper ever??

And THIS.



And I just wanted to puke.

So the rest of my day was spent trying to determine whether or not the previous owners of our house had any sort of termite treatment previously. I dug through all our paperwork looking for receipts or contracts or disclosures in our contract. All I could find was an inspection report that we had done before we bought the house that indicated past damage but no active colonies at the time. That wasn't going to help.

I called and left a message for the realtor who sold us the house, because I was pretty sure I vaguely remembered there being some sort of termite clause from the sellers.

Finally I said Fuck it, and I called the nice people at Bugeaters and basically unloaded the highlights of the last 24 hours. I forwarded the guy on the phone the picture of the swarm, hoping he'd say "Flying Ants, Ma'am. Ya got Flying Ants...", but I was not so lucky. He said the T-word (ha, you thought TWAT, didn't you?!!?). TERMITES.

Ed, the Bugeater guy, was at my door a few hours later, and I showed him the termite graveyard on the patio. I showed him the wall in the kitchen. He walked with me all around the outside of the house and then inside to the basement. He moved the tiles in the drop ceiling and told me I had a dead mouse in there. Mice are... just... I can't... they're just so... SO... HORRIBLE.



Yeah, those are my Rock Band drums. My band's name is Post-Coital Waffles, I'm sure you're dying to know. No, wait - that's my Guitar Hero band name.

Anyway, by the time Ed was done showing me all the creepy crawlies in and around my house, I wanted to take a shower with bleach and a Brillo pad and scrub my skin raw until it stopped itching. And then he handed me the estimate.

You don't even want to know.

I totally have to share this.

This is when I wish I had all of your phone numbers, cuz this like, JUST fuckin happened. I'd call you up right now, my BFF, and say Ohmygod, get this.

Ok... you know how I love to see what searches lead people to my blog? Joey Lawrence Bulge, for some reason, is one that I've seen pop up (pun totally intended) many times. And Post-Coital Waffles will direct you here, too.

The one search that's far and away the most popular is Swollen Uvula. Swollen Uvula has gotten so many hits, I edited the entry to encourage people to stop and read the rest of my blog. By the way, if you found me through some random search and just decided to stick around, I'd love to know what brought you here.

Unless it was Joey Lawrence Bulge.
In that case, just GET THE FUCK OUT.

I get a little freaked out when I see that someone was searching for something creepy. I can't help imagining what that person was hoping to find.

Anyway, today I saw that someone found my blog by searching for the phrase "Almost Boobs". It gave me a schadenfreudenous smile to imagine that some freaky perv looking for kiddie porn thought he hit the fuckin jackpot, but instead got THIS picture...


of Linda the troll with her boobs almost sitting on her belly.

Serves you right, Kiddie Fiddler!

Shut Up, Beavis!

Today, as I do every day, I dug through the baskets of clean laundry that are sitting on the floor of my bedroom to find clothes for the boys to wear to school. I don't put laundry away. What's the point? The boys come downstairs to my room every morning anyway, and it saves me the trip upstairs.

I'm a little behind on laundry, so the fashion choices today were limited. At the bottom of the basket, I found a huge T-shirt that Pie got at an Eco-Expo Hug A Tree thing we went to last summer. Pie usually wears as a nightshirt. It's got a picture of the world on the front of it and big block letters that say DON'T THROW IT AWAY. Supposed to encourage recycling, I guess. Hippie freaks.

Anyway, it occurred to me that today is Earth Day! So I said Hey, Pie, why don't you wear this shirt to school today!

Mom, it's too BIG.

(That's what she said, I said instinctively in my head. Of course I knew he wouldn't get it, so I didn't say it out loud, but I can't stop my brain from thinking it. Seriously, it's like a reflex.)

No, dude, it's perfect! If anybody gives you a hard time about your shirt looking silly, just say, DUH! IT'S EARTH DAY!

Oh yeah! It IS Earth Day!!

Yeah, and you could say I love the Earth, don't you love the planet that you're from?

Ooooh, I know - I'll say Don't you love URANUS??


I choked on my breakfast.


Apparently he's caught on to the fact that I snicker a little whenever he talks about the Solar System and anything to do with Uranus. I'm SORRY. I know I have the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy. I've never denied it. Does that make me a bad person? No, it makes me a fucking genius blogger.


Mom, why is Uranus funny?

At this point I was chuckling too hard to speak, but I thought it was amusing that he knew that Uranus was the funniest planet in our solar system, he just didn't know Why. I actually really respect that. Humor is funniest when you know what you're talking about. Or if you're making fun of the fact that you have no idea what you're talking about.

Ummm, ok, Pie... ANUS is another word for BUTT. So when you say Uranus...

It's like saying Your Butt!! Heh heh heh heh... You're from Your Butt!! Let's send a rocketship to explore Your Anus, Mom!!! Heh heh...

We laughed ourselves to tears. We bonded over Uranus.


And now, it's like a million times funnier, cuz Pie thinks it's funny too. I've opened up a whole new realm of potty humor for my son.

I'm the best mom in the world.

The Baseball Game, three weeks ago.

I caught a typo on TV a little while ago.



As an isolated incident, green enery wouldn't have been that noteworthy, except that Kev had also recently seen a bizarre spelling error on TV.



Diseasages.

Why am I telling you this? Trust me, it relates.

A couple of weeks ago, Beeb and her band were playing The National Anthem at the Cardinals game. It was a day game, and R had taken the whole day off so all five of us could go together.

The band students were getting to leave school early and taking busses to the stadium, but the busses would not be bringing them back to school. They wouldn't be allowed to take their instruments back to their seats either, so parents would have to give their student his or her ticket before they left for school that day, then meet their students outside of Gate 1 after they were done playing, and take their instruments back to their cars. Got all that?

We had planned to shell out the major coin for a good parking place because Princeton was going to put his Percussion stuff in there, which is heavy and cumbersome, and because I'm really a kinda nice person, not a heartless bitch. Except for sometimes.

Buffy had wanted to carpool, which would have been fine, but I had offered to drive another of Beeb's friends home and we weren't going to have room in the Odyssexy. So Buffy and I had kinda talked about caravaning down. Well, really, Buffy had talked about it and I had tried to subtly convince her that it didn't really make any sense to do that.

Here's the thing with Buffy. She comes up with these elaborate plans that she thinks are going to streamline the transportation to or from some event for maximum efficiency, and it's always WAY more trouble than it's worth. And it annoys the fuck outta me, frankly. I usually end up just offering to drive because it's easier.

Anyway, the morning of the game I woke up at 6am, and when I gave Beeb her ticket I saw that the game started at 12:40 instead of 1:40. Problem - the boys didn't get out of school until 12:45, so I spent the morning in a complete panic.

We would have to pick the boys up early from school, and the boys would not have eaten lunch yet, so I tried to pull together something marginally nutritious out of what I had on hand. You saw my last trip to the grocery store, didn't you?



I also went to the Busch Stadium website to find out if we could bring a cooler and snacks, because fuck if I was going to pay for food after I was planning to drop about $25 on parking. We were allowed to pack sodas in clear plastic bottles, water, and snacks. SWEET.

I wrote the boys notes to give to their teachers so we could pick them up at 11am at school and immediately head down to the game. I had my fingers crossed that Buffy wouldn't try to call and co-ordinate some ridiculous plan that would cause more stress than it would relieve.

It was also going to be one of those weird weather days where they were predicting Scattered Showers, which, of course, might or might not be scattered over the stadium. We were going to be waaaaaay up in the Upper Deck, which is usually windy, but is also closer to the sun, so do you plan for warm or cold? You have to plan for BOTH.

Once the boys left for school, R and I went to Target to get a few of those $1.99 rain ponchos since we knew they'd charge out the butt for one at the game. We had the cooler, we had snacks, we pulled cash to pay for parking, dressed in layers, had jackets, umbrellas, ponchos - we had it all worked out to pick up the boys and get there in plenty of time.

I hadn't heard from Buffy yet. This was good. I assumed she'd figured out that she was on her own and that we'd see her there (or not... I wasn't going to go out of my way or anything).

About five minutes into the forty-minute drive to Busch Stadium, I heard a strange WHOOOOOSH!!! from the backseat.

Pie, what's goin' on?

Um... nuthin...



Riiiiiight.

Anyway, here's the best part. We'd meticulously planned for every possible eventuality, we were super-prepared (over-prepared, even), and what's the thing about the best-laid plans of mice and men?

St. Louisans can appreciate this... we were directly in front of the Old Courthouse at Broadway about to turn onto Market Street, having driven forty minutes in from West County.

For the Non-Locals, just to give you a sense of it,

Here's a closeup of downtown.




Zoom out? Downtown's the yellow patch on the Right side of the map.
Chez Karma is just about all the way over to the left edge.




And I suddenly had one of those Instant Diarrhea moments. I very quietly - without even cursing - said...

We don't have the tickets.

R sighed in disgust. Understandable.

I'm so, so sorry...

Here we were, about to pull into our rock star parking spot, and I did the one thing that could completely fuck up the day. If we had forgotten snacks, we could survive. If we'd forgotten the umbrellas and ponchos, we could get under the roof. Anything else would have been fixable. FUCK. ME.

There was no way we could afford to buy four more tickets. We could have purchased a ticket for either R or me and then the other parent could take the boys to do something else, I suppose, but we were just plain FUCKED.

Mortified by my own stupidity, I called Buffy to let her know of this unfortunate change in plans.

She had just left her house, which is about ten minutes from my house. She offered to go to my house and get the tickets off of the bulletin board in my kitchen. I cringed, knowing what my kitchen looked like. If you've ever been to my house, you may have thought I didn't clean up for you, but I did. The kitchen was filthy by MY rather lax standards, but fuck it, this was an emergency.

Here's what Buffy saw:





Welcome to the Inner Circle, Buffy. You're one of the people I no longer clean up for. It's really a compliment, believe it or not.

So Buffy went to my house, got the tickets, found us in the Rock Star Parking Lot, literally across the street from the Stadium,



(See?? Walking up to our seats, we could see our van!)




and we got in line to enter the stadium but we MISSED seeing the kids playing the National Anthem. We heard them, and they sounded great, but I felt absolutely HORRIBLE because not only did I miss seeing Beebie, I caused Buffy to miss seeing her kid too. I felt like such an asshole. We didn't even get to our seats until the top of the 3rd inning. I was so pissed at myself, it consumed me.

And then I consumed some overpriced beer, and I got over it.



It was cold. It rained.



But we had fun anyway.




And afterwards we drove Buffy and her fam back to where they parked.



Get this - they had to pay FIVE BUCKS to park there!! Believe that???

Oooh, I almost forgot how this whole story relates to the typo thing.

You know how women's restrooms at major sports venues are famously crowded? Well, not this time. I walked into a Busch Stadium restroom and saw nothing but open doors. How lovely it is to not have to wait cross-legged in some huge line, I thought.

I had my choice of stalls, so I chose one, completely at random, locked the door behind me and dropped my drawers. While hovering in the stall, mid-pee, I realized that not only was there no paper, there was also no kindly next-stall neighbor to whom I could plea for help.

For the record, I'm not above waddling from stall to stall with my jeans around my ankles, and if it hadn't been so freakin cold, I probably would have.

I briefly considered picking up the two conjoined squares I saw on the floor, mostly dry other than the footprints on them, to dab my cooter, and at that very moment, I thought...



THAT is where Diseasages come from.



(P.S. I used a Kleenex from my purse, if you're wondering.)

Multimedia message

Waiting for the gates to open!!

I'm so screwed...

when Sitemeter shows a hit from Pearly Gates, Heaven.

I cracked. I'm not proud of myself.

Remember my great plan to use ONLY Netflix for my movie-viewing this month? I was doing great until yesterday. I was at Walgreens on what turned out to be a fruitless search for any remaining Cadbury Mini-Eggs so I don't have to wait until August for the Christmas ones to come out.

I went to the five different Walgreens, plus two grocery stores and a drugstore located within a 2-mile radius of my home, and had no luck. I had to settle for a bag of the individually-wrapped Cadbury Dairy Milk bites, which are good, but kinda disappointing because they lack that heavenly candy crunch found only in the Cadbury Mini-Egg. I did find a couple of funnies to share with you, though.



Sugar-Free Peeps. How is that even possible??? I was tempted to pick a couple up, but I couldn't bring myself to financially support this horrific crime against nature.

I sent this pic to the PKPTP (Penny Karma Picture Text Posse), and Turtlegirl theorized that Sugar-Free Peeps were like Soylent Green... made of PEEPle.

Oh, and then there was this.



We've been on food stamps before, years ago. I'm not making fun of it, but I did think this was kinda humorous.


THIS LABEL IS REMOVABLE.

Just in case a Walgreens store manager fears his customers might find it offputting to realize there are people living in their Wisteria Lane suburban neighborhood who receive public assistance.


So on my way back to the van, completely dejected, I walked past the RedBox box. There it was... DOUBT.

I've been dying to see Doubt. When is Philip Seymour Hoffman anything short of brilliant? He probably even takes Oscar-worthy dumps.

And after I saw a whole lot of Amy Adams in cute lingerie in Sunshine Cleaning Monday night, the idea of seeing her as a nun was just kinda intriguing. Throw in Meryl Streep as The Church Nazi... I couldn't keep myself away.

RedBox is AWESOME! Why did I never do it before? A dollar! PLUS, unlike with Blockbuster, you can return your movie to ANY RedBox! Ok, selection is sometimes limited, especially on the weekends, but for a dollar, who cares? I still have Rachel Getting Married sitting next to my TV, and I'll get to it, but the thought of waiting one more day to see Doubt was more than I could bear.

What an excellent movie! I loved how I found myself as conflicted as Sister James was, as pissed off as Father Flynn was, and as sure of my own opinion as Sister Aloysius was at the end of nearly every scene. I loved how the effect of gossip was illustrated. For as low-action as it was, the storyline still grabbed me emotionally and kept my attention throughout. I'm being intentionally vague so as not to give anything away to anyone who's planning to see it.

Oh, while I'm thinking about it, I should tell you what I thought of Slumdog Millionaire. I really enjoyed it. I thought that the multiple stories came together in a way that was really very cleverly done. I loved how the answers to the questions corresponded to various events in Jamal's life, and I thought about how much money he would give to have NOT known the answers to those questions.

To me, it was a very hopeful story about the many places fate takes us. Yes, people drift in and out of your life and sometimes you have to crawl through shit, but to me, there's a great comfort in knowing that the stories of our lives have already been written. I believe both in fate and in free will. Fate is the stuff that we don't have the ability to choose - who our parents are, for example. Would I have chosen to grow up a minister's daughter? Probably not, but would I want to grow up with different parents than the ones fate gave me? Not in a million years.

I also thought about what specific set of questions would pretty much guarantee me (and perhaps my faithful readers) the grand prize on Millionaire. I came up with a few questions I can answer based upon my own life experience:

FOR $200

How does one get A&D Ointment out of one's hair?

A. Peanut Butter
B. Toothpaste
C. Club Soda
D. Noxzema


FOR $1000

If your goldfish starts swimming upside down, what should you do?

A. Turn the tank upside down
B. Flush him, he's gone
C. Sprinkle salt in the tank
D. Feed him mushed up frozen peas


FOR $10000

What planet is Chewbacca from?

A. Tattooine
B. Coruscant
C. Endor
D. Kashyyk


FOR $250,000

Who won the Cy Young award in 1983?

A. Dwight Gooden
B. John Tudor
C. Joaquin Andujar
D. John Denny

I haven't told you guys how I know that one, I don't think.


FOR $1,000,000

Where did Jon Hamm, who plays the role of Don Draper on the AMC show Mad Men, attend college?

A. Harvard
B. Princeton
C. Yale
D. The University of Missouri


Hand over the fuckin check with my name on it, Meredith!


I'm so behind in my updates. I've been busy and stressed out and I haven't even written about Easter at Chez Inlaw. It was really pretty uneventful, apart from the fact that about 8 years after the worst Easter EVER (a story you should read if you haven't), I sat and drank Mimosas with FIL.

I also haven't written about Beebie's band playing the National Anthem at the baseball game last week. Now THAT, my friends, is a story. Stay tuned.

Today I was busy grocery shopping. Check out my cart.



That's donuts, beer, ice cream, meat and toilet paper. What else does a girl need?

Here's where I took the fam for dinner last week:



Mobil On The Run has a deal where if the Cardinals score six runs in a game (whether they win or lose), the next day you can get a fountain soda for 25 cents. They also have a deal where if the Blues win, you can get a hot dog for 50 cents. The BEST is a day like last Tuesday - when the planets align and the the Cardinals score 6 and the Blues win on the same day. The next day all five of us ate dinner for less than five dollars.

Anyway, I was at the grocery store filling my cart full of crappy junk food when I got a message from Trillian asking me if I was able to find the Cadbury Mini-Eggs.

No, I lamented. I'm sure my sadness was clear, even through text.

She said she was standing in front of a shelf full of them and asked me how many I wanted.

How many can you fit in your car??

Mark your calendars, kids!

How many days until Grant's Farm opens?

Check it out!!!

I'm the featured FOLOTD today!!!!

(Friend Of List Of The Day)

I guess if you send Cary enough pictures of your boobs, eventually he caves. :)


Anyway, welcome, welcome! Thanks for stopping by! If you read and love LOTD as much as I do, you're already a friend of mine.

My recent posts aren't really my best work, so to give you a brief overview of what I generally talk about here, I've conveniently highlighted a couple of my favorite posts (which, conveniently, also link to other posts). Grab a snack. You could be here a while. :)


Year-end Reflections 2008


Year-end Reflections 2007


Or, if you're really in a hurry and are looking for the Express Lane, this one's pretty good. It'll at least give you a sense of what you'll see on my blog:

My First Mammogram


Hope to see you back!

- PK

Made me smile today.

From Yorkie's Blog...

Weekend - 1 for 3.

Beebie and her friend Violet rocked it at the music competition, earning the highest possible score! Check it out!



Oh, and as a bonus... THE COWBELL PERFORMANCE!!!
Cowbell kid is on the far left, Princeton is on the far right.




Tito's soccer games, however, did not go so well. They lost both of them. I put an orange shirt under his uniform shirt to make him easier to spot in pictures. The things I do for you kids...

There he is, number 3.



Mackin' on the ladies. . .



Making sure Dad's taking pictures. He is.
You have to click the pic to really see Tito.