Stories that make me laugh every time. Vol. 2

Wet Ones
This story probably is only funny to me and my siblings, but I'm going to tell it to you, anyway.

During one of my family's numerous cross-country treks to relocate to a new duty station for my father, my mother bought a container of Wet Ones to keep in the car for easy clean-ups. Wet Ones are the pre-moistened wipes that come in a round container and are impossible to pull out without ripping to shreds. It should really be called Wet Confetti. On this particular trip my brother was about seven, my sister eleven and I twelve. My mother's skill at "saving" is pretty legendary in our household. She saves everything: margarine bowls, aluminum foil, grocery bags, etc. This compulsion to save goes hand-in-hand with her not small loathing toward wasting anything. My mother decided one container of Wet Ones was all that was needed to travel from one coast to the other of this great country, and that damn well better be enough.

She turned to look back at us three in the backseat and warned: "Only use one of these when you need to. Don't take them out and play with them or anything else. I don't want you to waste them."

"OK," we all meekly responded.

About two hours went by before my brother, whose limitless curiosity usually got him into some kind of trouble several times a day, decided it was time to check out the Wet Ones. This is not a consumer product we normally had at home, so he was fascinated by the novelty. Accordingly, he pulled one out to take a look, to which my sister demanded, "Why did you pull out a Wet One?"

Looking confused by the question, my brother looked to my sister and then the pre-moistened wipe in his hand and answered, "They're all wet."

We all laughed a good ten minutes on that one and still laugh when Wet Ones enter conversation. I alway said I was going to send that story to Readers' Digest and win $100.

Stories that make me laugh every time. Vol. 1

I'm a person who likes to tell stories--not stories that are lies, but stories of events that really happened. My favorite stories to tell are funny stories. So, I'm going to share with you some of the best stories I've collected over the years and find almost any reason to tell them to someone who hasn't yet heard them.

Try It On Your Neck
Several years ago, when my sister and her family still lived in Madison, Wis., her husband's cousin was living with them. His name is David and he was staying with them while taking pre-med courses at the University of Wisconsin, or something like that. Anyway, while David was living with my sister's family, my sister acquired a dog: a black labrador retriever they named Finley. My sister's house in Madison was kind of in the boonies on top of a hill, so she bought an invisible electric fence to keep Finley close to the house. If you don't know, an invisible electric fence is basically a system that keeps the animal within specified boundaries through the use on an electronic collar that administers electric shock when the animal crosses the line. So, through conditioning, the animal learns to stay within a certain area.

When my sister first bought the system, she wanted to test it out, so she asked David to put the dog collar on his wrist so she could see how much of a shock the collar actually gave. David obliged and wrapped the collar around his wrist. My sister pressed the button on the remote and Dave responded that it wasn't really that big of a shock and he didn't believe it would be enough to deter Finley from crossing the lines. In her brillance, my sister asked David to put the collar around his neck since that's where Finley would be wearing it.

"Maybe it will feel different on your neck," she explained to David.

"OK, sure," David agreed.

So David put the collar on his neck and my sister zapped him with the remote. The shock caused him to be thrown halfway across the kitchen, which is where they were testing the device. So, it would seem my sister's reasoning was accurate and putting it around the neck did, indeed, make a difference. The invisible fence ended up doing the job quite well with Finley...and Dave.

Come fly with me.

I'm flying my daughter to Montana this weekend so she can go on a weeklong camping/horseback riding/hiking expedition with my sister and her family. Let's just say she is E-X-C-I-T-E-D. But what kid wouldn't be? I'm really happy she's going to get to spend some quality time with her cousins. Since my daughter is an only child, I really try to encourage her to look upon her cousins more as brothers and sisters, so that she can have a larger sense of family as she gets older. I'll do the same with my brother's children once he has them. In actuality, encouraging more brother/sister type relationships with cousins is a very Korean thing to do. In the Korean language, there's not really even a word for cousin. It's either big sister/little sister or big brother/little brother. The only real shame for me in this scenario is that since we live far from my brother and sister, my daughter doesn't get to visit her cousins often and vice versa.

At any rate, I hope when she's an adult she can feel that she does have siblings in spirit, and in blood really, rather than thinking there are no relatives she can rely on in a familial sense.

By the way, if you haven't taken advantage of the extremely easy opportunity I've provided by linking to Daily Dancer off to right, you really should. This guy is fucking hilarious. He's got the moves to put you to shame, that's for sure Honeychild. Go take a look. It'll make you feel better.

Tom Cruise is the debil!

Alright, I get to pay homage to The Waterboy twice in a week. Woohoo. Is that cool or what? Anyway, back to Tom Cruise being the debil. So Tom went psycho on the Today Show, telling Matt Lauer he doesn't know anything about psychiatry. And while, that's all very interesting, I want to look more closely at this statement that Cruise made earlier in the interview:

"Scientology is something that you don't understand. It's like you could be a Christian and be a Scientologist. It is a religion in that it deals with the spirit, you as a spiritual being."

I think the person who's not understanding is Tom. It's not like you could be a Christian and be a Scientologist because if you're Christian, you're not going to believe or accept that dead aliens are living inside of you. If you're Christian, you're Christian. If you're a Scientologist, you're a Scientologist. That's like saying you could be Christian and Jewish. Umm, no, I don't think so. Also, last time I checked, Christianity deals with the spirit as well, so why would a Christian need Scientology to address the issue of man as a spiritual being? Like I said in my earlier post, Tom can be Scientologist of the world if he wants and that's his own damn business. Please, go and proselytize till you're blue in the face, Tommy-boy, but I'm going to have to disagree with attempts to push Scientology as something to augment whatever religion a person already practices. Sorry, Tom, Scientology is not the Cliff Notes to my Catholicism.

Interview # I don't know anymore because it's been so long since I last interviewed someone.

Well, my brother is back for a command performance. Reading the last couple of interviews with my daughter has given him a hankering to go under the glare of my intense questioning.

KC: So, what brings you back?

MC: Its friday. I'm burnt out and don't feel like reading about SSO all day or re designing my company's documentation interface.

KC: What's SSO?

MC: Single Sign On.

KC: Which is...

MC: user portals etc. Creates greater security by linking the log ins of all the various interfaces that people have to use in their line of business by having them need only one log in by doing so they don't forget log ins as much don't ask help desks for resets and don't do silly things like write down their passwords etc. short answer: boring stuff

KC: Yes, yes I see. I stopped reading your explanation because it was so boring. I can understand why you would rather be interviewed by me. So, anything exciting happen lately?

MC: hmmm, well of course you know I moved into my condo now. Am spending what little spare time I've had lately un packing boxes. Unpacking sucks. I kinda wish we had a man servant to do it.

KC: Yes, I can definitely see the benefits of having a man servant. Have you done anything really stupid funny lately or are you an adult now?

MC: Stupid funny. Nothing really stupid funny lately, nothing really stupid lately I'm on new add medicine! lol. I'm trying out strattera.

KC: What's that?

MC: Non stimulant add medicine, but to be honest with you the stimulant stuff works better I think and fewer side effects. I'm going to a beer festival tonight! And mountain biking tomorrow!

KC: Where is the beer festival?

MC: In Ashburn.

KC: With all the Redskins?

MC: Out that way yes but I don't know if any redskins will be there would be cool though. It at Old Dominion Brewery.

KC: I thought that's where they all live, in Ashburn.

MC: Yes a lot of them do but I don't know if they'll be at the beer festival.

KC: Shoot, if they were having a beer festival next to my house, I'd go.

MC: I think we are digressing.

KC: Yes, you're right. Give me a good story a la Tucker Max.

MC: I'm engaged. I have no more crazy tucker max style stories. The next crazy story for me will probably be my bachelor party. My buddies and I are going to Lake Anna for a few days. Got a big house on the lake. Going to drink copious amounts of alcohol and water ski, wake board etc. Wander about in a drunken stupor.

KC: I feared as much. You've passed over to the Married Side. You'll probably never do anything really funny again.

MC: Yeah that's probably true. Well, I hope not. I think I'm still apt to do something monumentally stupid given the right environment. Maybe when I'm in Argentina next January or after drinking too much in St. Maarten.

KC: Oh no, my friend. You'll have a wife and it's her job to make sure you never do anything stupid again, even if it is funny. We screw life up for you that way.

MC: Yeah she does stop me from doing the pull my finger trick to people.

KC: And, yet, you love her anyway, don't you?

MC: With all my heart and soul.

KC: Yeah, that love's a dangerous drug. Are you regretful that you'll have to stop being stupid?

MC: No, not really. I just have to find new ways to be stupid. Drugs used to make me stupid, stopped those. Was still stupid, then booze made me stupid. Don't really binge drink anymore, still stupid. Boredom makes me stupid, maybe that will be a vein I'll have to explore more. Only problem is not much time to be bored lately. Maybe after the wedding is over I'll have more time to focus on that but I have the feeling that I might have some honey do lists coming my way.

KC: No, you're next great moments of stupid funny will come once you have kids.

MC: Like leaving them at the hospital and stuff like that? Yeah that will probably provide some good ones.

KC: Yeah, or feeding them alcholic beverages by mistake, or not.

MC: That'll be a few years though, even though mom and dad want one in 9 mos.

KC: Or you could just whack 'em in the skull with the gardening rake like I did. Makes a nice hole, you know, gardening rake.

MC: I'll remember that one, put it in the parenting rolodex. Booze, check.
Garden rake, check.

KC: Man, Mom and Dad are not going to let you rest until you start pumping out those babies, You know that, don't you?

MC: I figured as much but I'll get by. Why do they want me to pump out babies so bad?
I can't figure it out. Why don't they get a puppy or something?

KC: Because then Mom gets something to play with. She's going to kiss it and hug it and love it.

MC: Puppies are great for that!

KC: Don't you get it? Grandparents try to make up for all the dumb shit they did to their own kids by spoiling their grandkids. It's the great order of the universe.

MC: Ah gotcha, gotcha. That's cool with me, I guess.

KC: It's not an accident that the grandkid ends up with all the stuff the kids wanted but were denied. Think about it, I had to wait until I was 13 to get my ears pierced, and Mom drags [my daughter] to the beauty salon to get them pierced when she's five.

MC: ha ha ha. Maybe they'll buy [our nephews] bb guns then.

KC: Probably. Because now they're not afraid of them putting out their eyes.

MC: ha ha ha.

KC: Anyway, I've got to cut the interview short because my printer just delivered my proofs and I've got to go through them, so we can pick this up later if you like.

MC: OK, catch ya later. I'm going to lunch.

KC: OK, eat something exotic that I can't get in this godforsaken place for me.

...but then I'd have to kill ya.

My dad has super-duper special security clearance from his days in the Army, which he's carried on into his civilian life because of the work he does. He often ends up as a contractor on military projects, so having active security clearance is necessary. Anywho, I began understanding what having top secret security clearance must mean when I was about 13 or so. At the time, my father headed the unit in charge of maintaining the DC/Moscow hotline (which I always imagined looked like the Batphone.) My father did telecommunications while in the military, so I figure he got the lowdown on a lot of interesting stuff. Anyway, I started wondering exactly what kind of information my father was privy to, so I'd ask him and he'd give me the, "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," answer. But seriously, I think my dad knows shit, like scary shit because there have been times when he's on business trips where my mother can't know where he is and he can only call her during certain times of the day. I want to know what my father knows. This has been something that's pretty much been driving me crazy for the past 23 years of my life because my dad still won't spill the beans. I wonder whether or not my father knows the truth about alien life. I wonder whether or not my dad knows if Ronald and Nancy were into S&M or any other kind of freaky-deaky sex play. You know, were they nasty or what? Sometimes I try to nonchalantly ask him about something secret just to see if I can catch him off guard and get him to accidently tell me something, but it never works. He just looks and me and laughs and says, "I'd have to kill ya." On the one hand, you've got to admire his perseverance over the years. Seriously, most people get so sick of me asking them the same questions over and over and over again that they tell me what I want to know just to shut me up, but not my dad. Maybe his ability to resist my constant badgering is part of his Army training. I don't know, but it has me stymied...his ability to block out my annoying probes. It's not like he can't trust me or anything, I can keep a secret. People think I'm a blabbermouth, and I am with some stuff, but not really important stuff. I know how to keep quiet. If the people in my life really knew all the stuff I know about them, they'd probably curl up in a fetal position and moan for a very long time. But mainly, I just want to know about the aliens.

I'm a lazy slob.

I just can't motivate myself to do any work today. So far I've made tickets for my church's parish picnic in August, I've read a bunch of celebrity gossip blogs, I've looked at pictures of Hillary Duff's teeth, I've filled up my water bottle, and I've eaten two tangerines. Oh, I've also posted comments on other people's blogs. Basically, I'm doing whatever I can to fill the time and not actually do work. In some ways, I don't really have any work to do right now. I'm still waiting to get the new material for the next issue of one of my magazines, and I've just sent the other to the printer, so I'm in a real lull time right now. Lull, lull, lull. Just like waves, isn't it?

I've got to get cowboy boots for my daughter before she goes to Montana. There seems to be a significant dearth of cowboy boot retailers in this town since Dudes 'n Darlins went out of business half a year ago, which figures. We've been here eight years and that stupid store was open until I actually needed to get something from it. Oh the agony and irony. However, I am surprised that a place like Indiana isn't just bursting at the seams with Western wear stores. Isn't it proper etiquitte to wear cowboy boots while driving one's Ford Ram pick-up with the monster wheels and flame decals blazing at the side? Now, I know exactly where to go to get my truck all suped-up because, you know, that shit counts for something in these here parts.

Da snake ain't got da parts.

Today's title doesn't really have anything to do with the post, but I've been wanting to use that phrase as a title for some time and since I'm kind of talking about eating, at least the lack of eating in this post, I figured maybe I'd squeeze it in. I just finished watching The Machinist, the movie where Christian Bale lost something like 60 pounds to play the lead. To say his weightloss is shocking is really inadequate, but I can't think of a better word. But really, it's shocking. The movie was pretty good. In some ways, it was almost like Memento where you've got to kind of go backward to understand what motivates the movie. I don't know how much of what Christian Bale did was acting or how much of it was a display of his own true physical fatigue, but he was very believable as the rail-thin, insomniac Trevor Reznick. I just kept thinking, damn, get some sleep boy. I mean, really, it's hard to imagine someone could have done it better than he did.

In the special features, Bale says he just stopped eating to lose the weight. Obviously, I would not have been a good candidate for this role because, while I don't tend to eat a lot and I'm not a big lover of food, I can't go a day without eating. And I've tried. I've tried to just not eat and get through the day and it just doesn't happen. I've never stayed up an entire night either. I've tried that too. Even in college, I have never in my life been able to stay awake an entire night and then continue on with my day. Even if I only got a couple of hours sleep, I still got some sleep.

Anyway, if you're looking for a film to watch, I recommend The Machinist.

Mystery solved.

My daughter has pneumonia. It has really been an interesting month for disease in this house. The good news is we now know why she had such a fierce fever and the pneumonia is not a severe case and should be treated easiy with anitbiotics. However, I am home again with her today because the doctor recommended that she stay home for at least a day for the antibiotics to kick in. I've got to take her back next week to make sure everything has cleared up the way it should. The doctor said she'll probably continue coughing for at least another couple of weeks, though. I asked the doctor if her having been treated for the staph infection could have contributed to her developing the pneumonia. You know, did the antibiotics on that go round kill good bacteria that would have prevented the bad bacteria from taking hold and the doctor said she didn't think so. She thinks it's just a coincidence.

I have to say I'm a little worried about sending my daughter off to Montana next month with her recovering from all these illnesses. Although my brother-in-law is a doctor and should be able to keep an eye on things, I'm wondering if I won't be putting too much stress on her immune system with all the traveling.

I'm going to go take a shower now because I stink.

Why are we afraid of religion?

In reading some of the commentary out there about Crazy Tom Cruise, it's interesting seeing how many people use his current odd behavior as an excuse to criticize his religious beliefs. I'm not a Scientologist. I know nothing about Scientology, but based on the little bit I've heard, I'm not going to be converting anytime soon. And I'll fess up to the fact that I don't really see it as a religion at all. However, if Tom Cruise gets something from it and wants to tell everyone about it, that's his own business and I don't know why people have to vilify him for it. I especially wonder about this fear of religion in light of how people similarly attacked Mel Gibson when Passion of the Christ came out. What about having a strong faith in God in this country freaks people out. I don't think people seem so frightened by the celebrities who are into crystal gazing. I'll also state that people who come off as "Holy Rollers" tend to put me off, but I'm not going to tell them they're wrong for believing in their faith so much that they want to share it with other people. Different people make different choices and since neither Tom Cruise nor Mel Gibson seem to be strapping explosives to themselves and then blowing-up busloads of people, I'm going to say they can talk all they want because it's not huring anyone. I think what turns people off so much is the assumption that someone who believes strongly in their faith and religion is probably judging those who don't act out with strong conviction in their own spiritual lives. Do I think some people do judge? Oh, definitely. Do I think all strongly religious people are judging? No, absolutely not. But no one likes to think they are being reprimanded for being a bad boy or girl. And I think that's how people feel when they someone talks strongly about religion because guilt and the idea of what we should be doing is tied up into many religious discussions. I think this negative reaction is indicitive of a current American psyche that wants to put blame outside the individual. I'm not weird for lacking spiritual faith, Tom Cruise/ Mel Gibson is weird for acting like a religous zealot. People like to believe they are somehow not responsible for their lives.

In a lot of ways, I take the entire notion of religious intolerance very personally because I know what it's like to be looked down upon because of my religion. Living in Utah as a non-Mormon is not easy. Not all Mormons are judgmental, but an awful lot are (in my experience). The funny thing is, though, that the people who were most judgmental were the people I'd consider to be the least truly spiritual. They wore their religion like the latest style of clothing. It was something that put them in with the "In Crowd" and they did their best to keep out the nerds. And I really didn't appreciate being treated like scum by people who didn't have clue about Catholicism and what it means. So the people who would put down publicly devout celebrities, what would make you like them better? That they shut up about their beliefs and act like they don't exist? If they are truly committed to their faith, they're not going to care what you think about them because your opinion isn't what counts in their minds.

I'm bored.

I'm bored, but you already know that, don't you? I don't know why I'm bored, I just am. We had a pretty active day today. Some friends came over and we walked to an art fair taking place in a park near our house, then we came back for a nice Father's Day barbeque. It was a completely enjoyable day and now I'm bored. I'm probably bored because my husband is watching this Into the West mini-series and I'm really not into it. I don't really dig Westerns. My husband, though, is a different story. He's into reading about fur trappers and stuff and he talks a lot about how he's going to go into the mountains to fight a grizzly bear when he's ready to die. Apparently, this is a man thing. The woman thing is when I say, "OK, Hon. I'm sure you will because grizzlies are always hanging out in the mountains, leaning against the pine trees waiting for old, life-weary guys with delusions of grandeur to come fight them to the death. It's totally a do-able plan."

So, I'm not into Into the West. And I'm not understanding how all the white people who end up with Indians and all the Indians who end up with white people learn to speak each other's respective languages. I lived with my mom for 18 years and I don't know Korean. How are these people learning languages so quickly? Were they all just smarter back then?

Yesterday we took my daughter and one of her friends to Chuck E. Cheese. I've talked before about how much I loathe Chuck E. Cheese and each subsequent visit does nothing to make me like it any better. Although, I have to admit, it wasn't so bad this time because with friend there, she didn't expect us to go around with her and play the games. So my husband and I were able to sit at the table and watch her and eat our food without too much hassle. I saw on a show somewhere that the guy who invented Atari invented Chuck E. Cheese so that he'd have a place to put his video games. I've probably already mentioned that, too. But, what the hell, good trivia is hard to come by.

I'm wondering about this whole Tom Cruise/ Katie Holmes thing. I think it's official that Tom Cruise has lost his freaking mind. Is it just a mid-life crisis? I don't know, but he's making an ass of himself. Not that it really matters in any way, but what makes a person just go off the deep end like that all of a sudden? And why is Katie Holmes so eager to marry him when she didn't end up marrying Chris Klein after they'd been together for five years or whatever? They don't even look right together. Not that Tom Cruise has looked right with any of the women he dates or marries, but he looks really wrong with Katie Holmes for some reason.

Although I have not actually seen any of the infamous Oprah footage, I've got to wonder why Oprah didn't ask him what the hell he was doing. I would have been like, "Yo, calm down. You know you're making an ass of yourself, right? I'm sending you the bill for cleaning my upholstery, Punk."

You know what I want? I want the Queer Eye guys to come make-over my husband. My husband said he wouldn't want to though, which kind of surprised me. Actually, I bet he wouldn't mind if they came and made him over as long as it didn't have to be on television. I think he's worried about having to expose his private life to the viewing public. Anyway, they only do guys in NY or LA. It's not fair (whine, whine, whine). Why doesn't cool stuff ever happen here? The heartland is where the Fab Five should be going anyway. How hard is it to redo guys who live in NY and LA, anyway? Even if they don't dress the part, they still know how they should be looking because they can't help seeing it every time they hit the street. They understand they're not working it the way they should. But normal guys who live anywhere else besides NY and LA, they don't know that they need help. One day I'll tell you all about the Garanimals outfit my husband picked out for himself. If I had a digital camera, I'd show it to you. But I don't, so I can't. The real test would be to remake the schlumps around here. (I'm not categorizing my husband as a schlump, by the way. Just all the other men who live here.) No, seriously, I think it would be hilarous for them to come to a place like this and take all these mid-western, 40-something dads who all dress in khakis, sneakers and polo shirts and turn them into really sharp looking guys. Then after, we could all go dancing. It would ROCK.

Good news and bad news.

The good news is my daughter's fever has finally broken. Yay. If she would have still had a fever this morning, I was supposed to take her into the doctor's again. Last night she told me to pretend she didn't have a fever today no matter what. I didn't realize she hated going to the doctor's office. The bad news is that she's in the office with me today because her daycare is closed for the day and this chick is BUGGIN'. Going hand in hand with being well again is that she now has her usual energy level and desire to get into stuff. Right now, she's typing at about 500 words per minute on the typewriter and the sound of it is driving me insane. She's writing a love story, she tells me.

"Because it's your favorite kind of story, Mom," she explained.

You see what I bitch I am? She's furiously typing out a completely nonscensical love story for me and I'm complaining about the noise. OK, wait, she says it's done. She's just asked me if she managed to type any real words. We found it, full and kook. Actually, it is a love story, isn't it? Of course, she only turned to the typing after she'd finished cleaning the coffee stand with a sponge envelope moistener. Now she rummaging through the supply drawer trying to find pens. Now she wants me to print some Pokemon pictures off the internet. Now she's standing on a chair dancing while singing a Pokemon song. This is all happening in real time, by the way. Now she wants me to interview her again. Do you want me to interview her again? She says yes. I'll make it short.

KC: Why do you want me to interview you?

Little KC: Because it's fun.

KC: What's fun about it?

Little KC: It's just fun.

KC: But you never say anything.

Little KC: Hey you can't barely write on the computer.

KC: What do you mean?

Little KC: As I sit here on your back, I'm always seeing you erase some words because you're spelling them wrong. There.

KC: Nuh, uh. I'm a typing master.

Little KC: Typing masters never have to erase.

KC: I'm not erasing.

Little KC: Yes you are.

KC: What's the best thing that's happened to you this week?

Little KC: Treasure chest day.

KC: Just because you got some new toy?

Little KC: It's not a toy, it's bug catcher. I'm offended. Don't write that down, OK?

KC: I have.

Little KC: Why?

KC: People want to know what's going on.

Little KC: Why are you writing stuff I wasn't saying?

KC: You said everything I wrote.

Little KC: Tell the people about this weekend and that I'm going to Chuckie Cheese.

KC: We already told them about that on the last interview.

Little KC: Oh, yeah. You're writing yeah with an 'e' and you're writing...

KC: Yeah?

Little KC: What cha doing?

KC: I'm typing.

Little KC: I can't think of anything.

KC: OK, that's the end of the interview then. Good conversation. Good times, good times.

Little KC: You're weird.

KC: Weird but classy.

Little KC: Classy? What's classy?

KC: I've got style and grace.

Little KC: I thought you said this was the end of the interview.

KC: It is, bye everyone.

The Fifth Day

Not to be confused with the Schwarzenegger classic The 6th Day, we have now entered Day Five of The Fever. We haven't heard back from the lab yet about the kid's urine sample. We looked at WebMD last night and it said children usually run higher fevers than adults and that it's not uncommon for relatively high fevers to run three or four days with no other significant symptoms. It went on to say that in such cases, it's usually nothing to worry about. What the hell do they know, anyway? She is at daycare today because it's treasure chest day. She's on the Motrin, so we'll just have to see, I guess.

I've been so caught up with talking about fevers and toilets that I have not written about the incredibly stupid thing my friend's husband (I'll call him Dufus) did the other day. My friend and another friend went to drop some things off at Goodwill or something and left all the kids with Dufus. Well, Dufus told them if they weren't back by 4:30 so he could go to baseball practice, he was going to leave. My two friends laughed because he was obviously joking. Now there were four children left in Dufus's care: his two sons aged three and eight and the other friend's two daughter aged four and six. When the two friends returned at 4:35, they were greeted by Dufus waiting in his van at the end of their very long driveway. Once my friends pulled into the driveway, he pulled out and left. That means he left all four kids in the house, unsupervised while he sat in the van waiting to drive away the second he saw my friends. By the time my friends got to the house, the youngest boy was running around naked. Anyway, this led to a very serious talk between my friend with the daughters, her husband and Dufus because Dufus obviously has no proper judgement when it comes to the care of children. Dufus is the same parent who wanted to leave his son sleeping on the couch at 6:00 am, alone, to get ready for school by himself before I could pick him up and take him to school. Of course that never happened because I told Dufus if he did not bring that child down to my house when he left for work, I was going to be at their house at 6:00 am to collect him myself. Basically, this guy was more concerned about being late for baseball practice than making sure all the kids were safe. He's an idiot. Anyway, that's all I'm going to say about that because thinking about Dufus makes me want to hit something.

Little KC is in the hizzie.

My daughter wants me to interview her for your reading pleasure, so here we go:

KC: What do you want to talk about?

Little KC: Uh, you have to ask me something.

KC: I just did ask you something.

Little KC: I did not know what you asked me.

KC: I asked what do you want to talk about?

Little KC: You have to ask me a question, I said. Do you get it?

KC: I get it, but I don't think you get it.

Little KC: Just ask me a question.

KC: OK, how are you feeling right now?

Little KC: Sick.

KC: Sick in what way?

Little KC: I feel couch sick.

KC: What's couch sick?

Little KC: I don't know. I just heard my parents say it. What do you think I am, weird?

KC: Uh, yeah.

Little KC: :Leave me alone. Just kidding.

KC: Seriously, what did you want to talk about?

Little KC: I don't know.

KC: Are we finished, then?

Little KC: Nope. You have to ask me more questions.

KC: OK, how are you enjoying your summer vacation?

Little KC: I don't know but this weekend Mikey is coming over and I'm going to Chuckie Cheese.

KC: So that's good?

Little KC: Yup. Only if I feel better, he can come over and then we're going to Chuckie Cheese this weekend which is in two more days.

KC: What if your're not feeling better?

Little KC: THen I'll have to wait a whole entire 'nother week.

KC: What else are you going to do beside Chuckie Cheese?

Little KC: I don't know. I guess go to church.

KC: So Chuckie Cheese and church, huh?

Little KC: Yup.

KC: That sounds like a pretty complete day.

Little KC: Then after we go to Chuckie Cheese, Mikey's coming over to my house for a playdate, if I feel better.

KC: Do you want more medicine?

Little KC: Yes.

KC: You're feeling bad again?

Little KC: Why do you ask so many questions? You're my mother.

KC: What do you want for dinner?

Little KC: I don't know. (general groan of misery) Can you just ask me questions about stuff that I know about and then I can give you the answer.

KC: OK, are you missing school?

Little KC: Nope, uh, yes and no.

KC: What are you missing?

Little KC: Mikey.

KC: Anything else?

Little KC: All my friends.

KC: Well, you'll see Mikey on Saturday.

Little KC: I know.

KC: Are you going to go to sleep now?

Little KC: Nope. I'm just trying to stay warm.

KC: Why don't you just tell me something? What's on your mind?

Little KC: Pokemon and Mikey and Chuckie Cheese.

KC: And what about those things is on your mind?

Little KC: I really don't know. My memory is short here people.

KC: You look sleepy to me.

Little KC: I am.

KC: Then go to sleep.

Little KC: I don't want to.

KC: Why not?

Little KC: I'm having too much fun telling you everything that I'm telling you.

KC: Are you excited about the new Harry Potter book?

Little KC: Yes, I wonder who's the new character.

KC: Who do you think is going die?

Little KC: Malfoy. He is evil. In number two, did you see how his father treated that house elf Doby?

KC: I did. Their whole family is evil.

Little KC: Yeah because Malfoy's father is a Deatheater. At first I thought Deatheaters were good because I thought they ate death but then I realized that they're evil in the fourth book.

KC: What are you doing?

Little KC: I'm telling you what I'm doing, I'm watching Pokemon and I'm laying down.

KC: So you're a multi-tasker?

Little KC: A what? What's a multi-casker?

KC: Someone who makes lots of casks.

Little KC: Oh.

KC: Really, a multi-tasker is someone who can do a bunch of things at the same time.

Little KC: I can even play my Gameboy and write a book while I'm laying down and watching Pokemon Dyoxis. I really can.

OK, I think that's about all I can take. This conversation is boring enough for me to go to sleep and I have to be interested because it's my kid.

Don't know what's going on.

My daughter still has a fever. No one seems to know what it's about. My husband took her to the doctor yesterday and she doesn't have strep, she doesn't have an ear infection, she doesn't have a UTI, and her minor cough does not seem to have anything to do with it. They sent her urine sample to the lab to check for bacteria, but the medical staff are stymied. When I say she's been running a fever since Sunday, I'm talking about a fever. Her temperature has been ranging between 101-102 for four days. When she's on the Motrin, she's fine, but as soon as the medicine wears off, she's back to where she started. I'm officiallly worried now because I automatically assume when there is no reasonable answer, the remaining options can't be that good. Right now she's lying under my desk playing her Gameboy. I wanted to try and send her to daycare just to see how it would go, but she really didn't want to and my husband didn't think it would help her out. Of course, she wants to go tomorrow because Thursdays are treasure chest day at daycare, so she is not about to miss out on gift day, girlfriend. While we were walking to the office I asked if she thought she felt like she would have been OK at Kristy's after all. She said, "No, I don't want to spread my disease around to everyone else."

I said, "But you don't care about spreading your disease around tomorrow, do you?"

Then she just looked at me with a sheepish grin and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean," I answered.

I am worried, though, about whatever is causing her to have a fever. I'm probably going to dig around on Google a little today where I'll find out all unexplainable fevers in children are caused by leukemia or something equally as bad. Naw, I'm not overly dramatic. Why do you ask?

So, I installed my toilet last night and so far, so good. No leaking. No shattering. No exploding. You know, sometimes I amaze even myself with my ability to do just about anything. Really. I am amazing. I could have my own show I'm so amazing. When I went to the store, they had this new-fangled toilet gasket that you use in place of the wax ring. It has a ten-year guarantee not to leak, so I decided to give it a try. I'm hoping that since there is no wax to compress, the seal will work better. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Now that I've proved my handiness around the house, yet again, I think I'm going to get started on that addition I've always wanted.

So much to say, so little time.

K, where to start? Yesterday I was out becaue my daughter has been running a fever since Sunday. Although she seems in a little bit better spirits today, her temperature has only gone down about one degree and my husband took off today to take her to the doctor and stay home with her. Her throat is sore and her tonsils are swollen. According to the lady that watches her over the summer, strep is going around. Her son's baseball team was out about five players over the weekend because of strep. So, we'll see if that's the culprit in her case. Beyond that, I did something not so smart yesterday. I smashed my toilet to bits. Actually, I crushed my toilet to bits. It's a long, drawn out story that starts five years ago when we bought our house. So settle back for the long haul on this one.

Our upstairs toilet has been a chronic leaking pain in the ass since we bought our house in 2000. (Our house was built in 1949, so it's old.) The first thing we did was change the wax ring and that took care of the leak for a few months, then we had another wax ring put on (actually two because the plumber said he thought the problem was that since the flange was raised a little too much above the floor, compression from us sitting on the toilet was causing the wax ring to be squished out and flat from beneath the toilet, thus eliminating an effective barrier.) The two wax rings worked for a few months and then we saw leaking again. So we had the subfloor redone so that the flange would be more flush with the floor. At that time, we also bought a new toilet just in case the leaking was being caused by a crack in the stool that we couldn't detect. That seemed to work for about a year and then I noticed it was leaking once again. So I bought a new toilet because the previous one I'd bought was the cheap "kit" toilet where everything you need comes in a box for $79.00. I thought, OK, let's splurge on something a little bit nicer because I believe you do get what you pay for. So I bought a nice toilet and about a month later it starts leaking. I called in the plumbers and it would seem when the last wax ring was put in, it was put in upsidedown, so a good seal wasn't in place. They put in a new, mondo-ass, extra thick wax ring. That was last summer and a few days ago I discovered leakage anew from under the toilet. To say I am vexed by this little problem would be a massive understatement. I have concluded the flange (which is cast iron) must be cracked because in all of this it is only thing that has not been replaced/ repaired. However, before calling the plumbers again, I decided to take a gander at my Minor Home Repairs book to see if it might be something simpler. And I find, a-ha, check that all bolts are secure. So, I pull out my trusty rachet-wrench and start to tighten the floor bolts a bit. Before I go on, I should explain that I do know about the dangers of over-tightening a toilet to the floor bolts. I know that over-tighenting can cause the stool to crack. I now know that you don't really have to tighten all that much before the stool cracks, nay, shatters from the force. I also now know that before the porcelain bowl explodes, you're warned by a slight but ominous and almost musical, tinkling sound of splintering ceramic.

I guess I should consider myself lucky that more water didn't come spilling out. It was easily contained and wiped up. I guess I should consider myself lucky that I had just cleaned the toilet the day before so I wasn't mucking around in urine or fecal matter. I guess I should consider myself lucky that I only demolished the stool and that the tank is still completely servicable. However, I don't consider myself lucky at all. When I realized what I'd done, I reacted pretty normally. I muttered "shit" under my breath, cleaned the mess up as best I could and called my husband to tell him I broke the toilet. He said he now gets one free "get out of jail" card for future use. Anyway, since I'd ruined the toilet, I pulled it up to check out the wax ring and look at the flange. The wax ring did look unusually compressed to me, yet again, and I didn't see anything with the flange to indicate that's the problem. I'm going to Lowe's today after work to get a new stool (which, if you're counting, will be the fourth toilet in five years) and extra, super-duper wax ring and I'm going to put it all in today. And when I say I'm going to put it in, I mean I'm going to put it in. After five years of "professionals" having their way with it, I couldn't possibly do a worse job. Of course, I will use a gentle touch when tighetening the floor bolts this time. Hopefully, this will be the end of my leakage problems, but I seriously doubt it.

On the good side, staying home yesterday finally gave me time to paint my toenails.

It does a body good.

When I was in the doctor's office with my daughter the other week, waiting for her to be seen for her staph infection, I flipped through one of the parents' magazines and came across an article written by a woman explaining why she has chosen to nurse her children until they are older. At the time of writing the article, she was still nursing her youngest child, a five-year-old girl, and had nursed each of her older children until they were anywere between five- and seven-years-old. She explained in the article that she lives with constant ridicule heaped upon her by friends, family and strangers because everyone thinks it's weird she's continued to breastfeed her children for so long. I have to say, I find it odd and disconcerting. However, I did think the author made an excellent point is stating that the reason she believes people are so turned off by the idea of nursing children past infancy is because our Western society has so sexualized female breasts that we can't comprehend her desire to nourish her children with what she believes to be the best food for them as a non-sexual desire. She said she believes her children have benefited from being allowed to nurse into childhood. I think she has a point about the way we view the female body, but I can't help but thinking that the idea of nursing my seven-year-old daughter is repugnant to me. Not that I would personally view it as a sexual act in any way if I did do it, but my daughter is a kid. A kid with opinions and thoughts and observations and there's just something really discordant in my mind with nursing a child old enough to unbutton my shirt and use my breasts as a self-service bar. In fact, in the article it's mentioned that the author's daughter indicates her desire to nurse by saying, "I want some numies."

I nursed my daughter until she was fourteen months, so I don't see myself as a person unaware of the benefits of breatfeeding, but I have to say I was ready to be done with it when I was done with it. It's tiring in some ways having to be so physically tied to your child. My daughter took bottles when I wasn't around, and that gave me a lot of freedom compared to some women whose babies would only take the breast, but it was still a challenge for me because I had to carry my breast-pump around everywhere to keep her in supply and to keep my breasts from exploding. No matter what, I was still tied to this whole activity of nursing every second of my day. I can't see keeping that up for seven years. It boggles my mind.

Official bad attitude day.

I don't know what it is, but I swear there really are days when you just wake up on the wrong side of the bed. I'm just pissy today and everything around me is just making me pissier. It's the kind of day where I just feel like I'm ready for someone to do the one little thing that will give me an excuse to bite their head off. Really, I'm walking around hoping someone does something stupid so I can go off on them. You know, that's just wrong. It's because I'm trapped in these offices. I'm sitting here just wishing I could be somewhere else doing something more productive. I'm ungrateful to whine because there are plenty of people who would change places with me in a heartbeat, but I'm just not me if I'm not slightly aggravated with something.

When I went jogging yesterday, one of my editors was walking around the track. It's the old, crazy editor who drives me nutty with his stupidly obvious e-mails and who didn't want his wife to go home to her sister's funeral because he was convinced she'd contract SARS and pass it on to him. I'm not making that up, by the way. Anyway, I just ignored him. I just acted like he wasn't there because if I was forced to interact with him, I would've been rude--even more rude than just ignoring him. I just can't pretend to be nice to people I don't like. I feel like I'm betraying myself when I do that. I know it makes people think I'm a bitch, but I don't care. I'd rather they think me an honest bitch than a false sweetie. I understand people have the prerogative to act any way they choose, and I have the prerogative to respond to them accordingly. What I don't like is people who treat others like shit and then expect that they should be treated with respect or kindness. I know if I were better person, I'd turn the other cheek, but I guess I'm just not a better person at the end of the day. As far as I'm concerned you should get what you give. That's probably not very Christian, but I've mentioned I'm already anticipating a healthy stay in Purgatory. But in some ways, this gets to the heart of what I was talking about yesterday, this compulsion to fill our lives with unimportant shit. How others conduct themselves really isn't important enough a thing for me to get riled up about, but I do and I spend lots of time thinking about it. It doesn't do me any good to do this. It doesn't change people for the better. It just weighs me down with stuff that really doesn't count and distracts me from what I should really focus on, which is how fortunate a life I lead. But there is just something in me that really bristles at the idea of letting people get away with thinking they're OK when they're not.

What's it all about?

Do you ever feel completely lost? Do you ever feel like you're standing smack-dab in the middle of a big, empty room looking around without a clue? I was lying in bed last night thinking about all the small shit we stuff into our lives that is completely meaningless. Stuff like keeping up with the Joneses, if you know what I mean. The older I get, the less I want crap in my life. I feel like if I could just streamline everything and get rid of anything that's not essential, then life would be much easier. I'm tired of wanting stuff. I look around at people and everyone just seems soulless to me.

It's gonna be a scorcher.

OK, that's about the fourth time I've said that today and it's only about 9:30. Does that make me odd or does it just mean I am completely lacking in originality when it comes to discussing the weather? But it really is going to be a scorcher. It's supposed to hit 94 today, which will set a new record or something. I have now metamorphosed from Zebra Woman to Lizard Woman, the amazing skin-shedding wonder of the modern world. I managed to peel a good chunk of skin off my left arm yesterday. What started the whole thing off is that I noticed that my skin was all bubbled looking after I finished running. It looked like it was covered with blisters and I didn't know what the heck it was because the blisters weren't there before I ran. Then I realized that my sweat was trapped under the layer of dead skin. It was somewhat gross because when I got home I took a pair of tweezers and started peeling the skin off and then all the trapped sweat started oozing down my arm. Not that there was a huge amount because how much does your arm sweat anyway? But there was definitely a good amount of moisture trapped underneath. Actually, it's kind of a relief that my skin is starting to peel because my arms and legs have been itching like mad the last couple of days. It feels much better with the dead skin gone. I managed to get most of the skin off my left arm, but I asked my husband to help with my right arm because I am right-handed and not quite as dextrous working my right arm with my left hand. So I hand him the tweezers and he starts at it a little and then says, "No, I can't do this, it's not natural. I feel like I'm flaying you."

"Come on, " I said. "You've got to finish. The itching is killing me."

"No, no. It's grossing me out too much."

Men are such wussies. I need some freaking relief from the agony. What's a little skin-peeling when I pushed a baby out of my loins? He's not feeling anything. So I'm doing as best as I can by myself.

What is it about taking a satisfying dump that just makes you feel all happy? I just finished up my business in the bathroom and it was the kind that makes you groan in pleasure when it's all over. Normally, I wouldn't go number two in a public restroom, but here at work it's a one-toilet job and I've got some privacy. It took me a long to even be willing to sit on the toilet. Normally, I just hover, but there are only two other women on my floor and they don't look like they have lice or anything so I figure it's safe.

I smell skunk.

Seriously, I smell skunk. Where could it possibly be coming from? I am completely dumbfounded. Anyway, this past Friday we went to a trivia night at my daughter's school. It was a fundraiser to help supplement families who can't afford full tuition. We had nine people on our team and we were so close to winning it was painful. We lost in the final round when we had to name a bunch of dogs. None of us on the team knew anything about dogs, so that was the end of the show. It was an agonizing defeat, I must say. We had a great time, though, because we were the most obnoxious team. We carried on with a lot of chanting and hand-raising. It was GREAT.

Last night, we watched my friend's kids while she and her husband went to some graduation party. They have to girls and a son. The girls are six and four and the boy is 11 months. I kept the girls up with my daughter in her bedroom so they could play and stay out of my hair, and my husband and I watched the baby downstairs. There is nothing like taking care of a baby to remind me why it is I've chosen to have only one child. When my friend left, the baby cried for 45 minutes and couldn't be consoled no matter what I did. Finally, my husband took him and the baby quieted right down, and eventually went to sleep. Obviously, it's true that babies do pick up on the evil bitch vibe. I love my daughter more than life, but it was hard for me when she was a baby. She was colicky and you couldn't put her down or she would cry like she was being drawn and quartered. Times were not good for me when she was a baby. I suffered from post-partum depression and I was basically crazy for her first year. I didn't realize how bad off I was until I started to come up for air. Looking back on it now, I wish I would have had the wherewithall to get help. Luckily, I was able to continue caring for my daughter, but in all other ways I shut down. If it didn't have to do with taking care of my daughter or school (I was in grad school at the time), I basically tuned it out. I kind of went into automotion. Needless to say, things weren't exactly sunny in my marriage either. In fact, if there was ever a time when my husband and I came close to divorce, it was probably then. Fortunately, over time and a lot of talking, we were able to see how vile we had become toward each other and recommitted ourselves to making our marriage work. But in some ways, I think the shock of raising an infant played heavily into our decision to have only one child. A large portion comes from the fact that I suffer from infertility and finances work out much better with only one child, but I absolutely dread thinking of caring for another baby. And when we were watching my friend's son last night and he wouldn't stop crying, I felt myself turning inward again, like I did with my daughter when she was a baby. I felt my brain start to numb and my eyes start to glaze. It was kind of scary to me, actually. It's also the reason I say that if my husband and I ever do decide to have another child, we're adopting a kid from China or Korea or something.

Be prepared.

My friends and I were talking the other night of maybe taking our kids camping together this summer. Just the moms and the kids. We all thought this sounded like a great idea. We'd tire the kids out during the day and then enjoy margaritas around the fire once the kids were down for the night. While we were talking, I remembered my most memorable camping trip ever, which I fondly call The Camping Trip From Hell. One weekened, a couple of friends from work, one of the coworker's two-year-old and dog, my brother and I decided to go camping in Shenandoah National Park, which is a great place, by the way. Anyway, we all decided it would be lots of fun to go hiking and camping for the weekend. We get to the campground, pitch our tents and decide to go on a hike before it gets dark. My friend with the daughter, who is a very experienced outdoorswoman, whips out her map and picks out a nice five-mile circuit that should only take a couple of hours. Cool, we pack a couple of snacks and some water and all head out.

After a couple of hours we realize we're not really close to the end of the hike. My friend looks at her map again and realizes that she's miscalculated the length of the circuit and really it's about a ten-mile hike when it's all said and done. Needless to say, we comprehend we are not prepared for a ten-mile hike. We've finished off our water, we've gone through our few paltry snacks, and we're all starving because none of us has really eaten since breakfast. Luckily we encounter a couple spickets along the way with pottable water, so at least we're not worried about dehydration, but we are worried about how long it will take to get back to camp since it was already late-afternoon when we took off on our little expedition. Another couple of hours pass and my brother realizes he has a small bag of Del Monte trail mix in his backsack. I'm talking something that's meant to be a kid's snack in a lunchbox. It's small, but it's the only food we have. My brother pours the contents into his hand and the rest of us crowd around his outstreched palm to pick as quickly as possible at this unexpected bounty. Did I mention that there are four adults and a child to feed? So we polish off the trail mix in about a second, look at at the map and see that's there's about another two and a half miles back to camp. We finally get there and we are STARVING, STARVING. The kind of starving where you feel like you could eat your own foot if you had to. We had packed a lot of food: hotdogs, hamburgers, that kind of stuff. So my brother and I go to get the Coleman stove so we can commence with the grilling of the meat. I pull the stove out from the box and realize there's no fuel tank attached to it. "Where's the fuel tank?" I ask my brother.

"It's in the box, " he answers.

"No it's not," I say.

"Yes it is," he responds. "It's always in the box with the stove." He goes to the box and looks into it. "Where's the damn tank?" he asks.

The only stove we have is a small one-burner that one of my friends had thought to pack. We can't cook hotdogs or hamburgers on it, but at least we can cook the bag of Lipton's noodles over it. (This is again the friend--Rose--who spends many, many, many hours in the wilderness with her husband and child.) She takes out the burner and fills it with the fuel her husband has packed for her. She attempts to light the burner and is confused when it doesn't take. She, my brother and I make repeated attempts to get the thing lit with no success.

"What the fuck?" she says. "Why isn't this thing lighting?"

"Are you sure you've got the right fuel?" my brother finally asks.

"Yes, my husband knows it uses white fuel."

"Let me see the container," my brother says. Rose hands him the canister and my brother expertly sniffs it and says, "This is kerosene, not white fuel."

"Shit," Rose says. "It won't work with kerosene."

"Don't worry," I say. "I've got a whole canister of white fuel in the car." I go get the canister, we dump out the kerosene and fill it with white fuel. However, it takes awhile to burn off the residual kerosene in the burner before the white fuel takes the flame. Did I mention we're really, really starving?

While Rose and my other friend Lanette are busying themselves cooking the bag of Lipton's, my brother says, "I'm going to start a fire. We'll be able to roast the hotdogs, at least." He goes around and starts collecting some wood to start a fire, but there are only small twigs lying around. Nothing that will fuel a fire for very long. In addition, he realizes that the wood feels a little damp. "This wood feels a liitle damp," he says.

"It doesn't look wet," I say.

"But it feels wet," he says. My brother (who was a boy scout for about ten years) walks over to the closest group of campers to us and asked if it rained anytime recently, and they tell him it had rained pretty good that morning. So all the wood is wet. It's starting to get dark and cold. We had already eaten the bag of Lipton's by this point, but it didn't do anything to curb our hunger because it was just the one bag and there were five of us.

"We need more wood," my brother decides and asks if anyone packed an ax or a saw. We all look around at each other, shrugging shoulders and understand that, no, no one has thought to pack an ax or saw.

My brother goes out to the periphery of our campsite where a couple of small trees are down, gets another log for leverage and starts bouncing on branches to snap them off. He manages to get quite a few branches this way. All us womenfolk are mightily impressed by his abilities. But there is no luck when it comes to lighting the damn things. They're just too wet.

"Dammit!" my brother yells. We're all pretty desolate by this time. We've resigned ourselves to the fact that we are going to bed hungry, tired and cold. "I'm finding something to start a fire," he says determinedly and stalks off to find something to burn. About ten minutes later, he comes back with a shit-eating grin on his face, dragging a huge-ass cardboard box behind him. It's like a refridgerator box. That's how big it is.

"Where the hell did you find that?" I ask.

"It was propped up against a soda machine down by the showers," he answers. He bends and rips the box until it can fit within the stone circle for the fire then says, "Bring me that leftover kerosene."

Rose hands him the canister and he dumps the entire amount on the box. "Stand back," he instructs us before he tosses a lit match onto the drenched box. Basically, the box exploded in flame and fire. It was almost beautiful, I have to say. We moved some of the logs and branches close to the fire so they could dry out, which they did pretty quickly. The box was big enough to burn for quite awhile. We had our fire. We all found sticks for our hotdogs, roasted those babies and had a couple of beers. We even made smores. So in the end, it all turned out pretty well. We laugh about it now because we really did feel like we survived the elements that day. Man against nature, the endless stuggle that never fails to motivate and inspire. We had won. For the day, we had won and all was good in the world.

I'm crispy flavored.

Yesterday was Field Day at my daughter's school. I volunteered for the day and worked the Wheelbarrow Race, which was fine. I was outside all day without sunblock and I am paying the piper now, my friends. I look like Zebra Woman for all the striped patches on my arms and legs. I slathered the sunblock on my face, however, because, you know, I don't want wrinkles. I am literally red and white. If there is a bright side, it's that I'm not burned over every square inch of my body. The thing I hate most about sunburns is the twitching. The pain causes you to spasm every now and again and for some reason it just bugs the living crap out of me. Unfortunately, when I burn, my skin stays dark for a very long time. I've still got a dark patch on my lower back from a sunburn I got two years ago. I really don't want to look like a farmer for two years.

Today is my daughter's last day of school for the year, so she's pretty excited. While my husband and I are stuck here working, my daughter has quite the travel-packed summer laid out. She's home for June, then she'll go to Montana to go on a horseback-riding, back country camping trip with my sister's family. She'll stay in Montana until everyone heads to DC in August for my brother's wedding, at which time my husband and I will collect her and bring her back home, then it's right back to school again. Oh to be young and free and have places to go and people to see. Sigh.