Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

Here is my Lipitor commercial:

I am lap swimming in a beautiful Olympic pool. I am wearing a dark blue speedo suit, pink swim-cap, and blue goggles. Amazingly, my makeup is perfect, because this is television here, people. I'm doing a moderately fast free-style, executed beautifully, as if I had two perfectly functional shoulders. The commercial starts with me gliding easily from a flip-turn. The background music is soft and soothing. White text on the screen assists the announcer with the deep voice.

**This is Sara.
**Occupation: Special Investigator
**Age: 24
**Height: 5'6"
**Weight: 112
**Swims: 2 miles (Ok, that one isn't really true, not at this particular point in my life.)

As I near the end of the pool, the music changes to Wipe-Out and I slam head first into the wall(don't laugh, that actually happened to me at a high school meet when I was, surprise surprise, watching a cute guy). As my swimming companions stop and we are all laughing, the announcer says...

** Total Cholesterol: 243

One in five people has high cholesterol, blah blah blah. Ask your doctor about Lipitor, blah blah blah.

So there I was on the edge of my seat. I had dropped the laundry I was folding. I had lost the page of the book I was reading during the commercials. Ryan Seacrest was about to announce the next American Idol...and the phone rings. NOOOOOOOOOO!! Why can't I be one of those people who don't answer the phone? Who could be calling me at the climax of my year? I run to the phone and yell, "HELLO?!!"

"Hi"

Isn't it amazing how just that one syllable can melt your heart and chase away the anger? Still, there was no excuse for calling me during American Idol. Of all people, my very best friend in the entire world should know these things.

"Brad! What the hell? American Idol is on!"

"Oh, my god. You're watching American Idol? But this is really important."

"But Brad!!"

"Ok, how much longer is left because this is like really important. Can you call me right back?"

"No, I can talk. Ryan tricked me again and they're announcing the winner after the break."

Brad is the only person on this good Earth who could call and suddenly make American Idol seem not so important. In fact, any of the following people could have called and they would have been met with the following responses:

My Mom: Are you crazy? I'm watching American Idol. click

My Husband: AMERICAN IDOL! click

The President: Tune in to Fox and learn a little something. Oh, and you are very handsome. Oh, but you are sort of an idiot. click

My Boss: click

Kirk Cameron: I love you. click

Brett Hull: After all these years I can't believe you finally call during American Idol. Too bad. click

Fantasia: What are you doing? You are supposed to be on TV!! Oh, Diana's singing? Don't worry, I voted for you at least 100 times! It's in the bag. click

Mark Mcgwire: Hubba hubba. Watching American Idol. Call me later. Mmmmmmm. click

Rufus Wainwright: Can't talk now, I'm watching a very edgy documentary. click (Clearly I can't admit to Rufus that I am watching American Idol)

Sarah Jessica Parker: Well, I'm sorry, but we'll have to go shoe-shopping another time. I'm watching American Idol. click

I am so proud of Fluid Pudding. Welcome to the dark side, fellow Harry Potter lover! I, too, was skeptical about the Harry Potter books. Not because of that Harry Potter is the devil nonsense, of course. I was in English minor in college, and had many a professor try to beat into my hungry little brain that people who were seriously into literature wouldn't touch something on the best seller list with a ten foot pole. As if all best sellers are written for idiots! Yes, I see their point. Nora Roberts--idiots. However, J.K. Rowling--Brilliant!!

I received the box set of the first four Harry Potter books for Christmas when I was a junior in college. Out of pure boredom, I broke down and picked up the first book and WHAM!!!--I was captivated. I stayed up all night reading and when I finally fell asleep I had the most wonderful dreams that I was flying on a broomstick. Not playing quiddich, that's too scary. I was just souring over the Hogwarts at night on my broomstick.

Now I'm a full blown Harry Potter nerd, and damn proud of it! I'll be in the ticket line on June 4th. You won't, however, see me decked out in wizard garb. Those people are scary.

Since we have moved into our new house:

1) We destroyed a wall by trying to remove 50+ year old wallpaper.

2) A clog somewhere in time resulted in the laundry room sinks and the washer spewing water all over the basement. Oh, and the basement smelled like the roast beef I had put down the garbage disposal. $60 to the plumber from A.B. May.

3) A few days later, the wicked clog came back and there was broccoli on the basement floor that somehow came out of the laundry room sinks and the washer. Top-dog hates vegetables, but decided that if the broccoli had been through the same pipes as the roast beef then it was probably worth eating off of the floor. In fact, it was so delicious that she thought she'd roll around in it, as well.

4) We tear up carpet to expose the hardwood floors that are throughout the house. The problem? There are hardwoods throughout the entire house EXCEPT in the family room. Time to go carpet shopping.

5) Carpet is more expensive than we had expected. It will be installed in four weeks. Oops, our name somehow got deleted from their system. Make that six weeks.

6) The air conditioner works, but the fan doesn't. I paid the A.B. May man $60 to put on a $3 part, but now we have AC.

7) It rains 4 inches in one night. We could go swimming in the garage. And it stinks, too. Sump pump? What sump pump? We have a sump pump? Oh, it must not work!

8) Pay the A.B. May man $60 to tell us that our sump pump was improperly installed. Sorry, that's just not covered under the home warranty.

9) Now it's hot AND humid. Let's try out that newly working AC! Now the fan works, but the AC is broken. I haven't buckled and called A.B. May yet. $60 is starting to feel like a lot of money.

Is this why everyone is so gung-ho to buy a house? I don't see the silver lining here. The floors are torn up, the couch is in the kitchen, we have to cross our fingers every time we do a load of laundry or use the garbage disposal, the garage is full of smelly muck, and it is HOT IN HERE!!

It's not much, but it's ours. Our own little smelly dump. Home.

It is generally known in our house, without being said out loud, that if I bake something sweet and delicious, it's MINE! Sure, I always say:

Look, Kev, I made you some chocolate-banana bread.

Hey, I made you brownies!

Good, you're home! I missed you so much that I made you chocolate chip cookies--from scratch!!

or

Hurry home because I'm making strawberry shortcake.

However, Kevin knows that he gets one piece of banana bread, one cookie, one bite of strawberry shortcake...just so he can tell me how good it is. If he wants more, he has to sneak it and then disguise the rest so that all appears as it was.

I know how terrible this makes me sound. I really have tried to work on it, but I have always had a bit of a sharing problem. If Kevin takes one of my french fries (which I never finish) he immediately gets snapped at with, "Hey, those are MY french fries!!" I know, it's bad.

I think this little trip into my childhood will demonstrate my views on sharing, or in my case, not sharing...

It's my, lets say, 7th birthday. My brother (and at the time my very best friend in the whole world) would have been 5 1/2. As I'm opening my presents Benjamin would excitedly exclaim things such as follows: Oh, Boo, that's just what you wanted! or Sara, I'm so glad you got that or Oooh, I know what this one is...you're going to LOVE it!! Ok, you get the picture. Now, I'm still 7 and it is Benjamin's 6th birthday. As he is opening his presents I would have said things like: I don't have one of those or Why didn't I get that on my birthday? or Benjamin got more presents that I did. Of course, I don't remember saying these things, but that's how the story has been told to me.

Time warp to Christmas a couple of years ago. I'll be 21 and Benjamin can be 20. Note, I always make a very detailed Christmas list. Sometimes my parents get the same gift for each child, and sometimes even disguise the packages so we don't suspect. When Benjamin opens up the new Trivial Pursuit and everyone oohs and ahhs...well, I didn't ooh or ahh. I acted on my very first instinct and up I jumped with, "WHAT?!! That was on MY Christmas list!!!" I immediately sat back down and told Benjamin that he would have fun with that new game. So I guess it's all true, the stories of my selfish ways.

Anyway...put down that cookie. It's MINE!

It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring.

It is dark, thundering, and raining increasingly harder as I write. Lucy is bravely sitting the window--nope, she just jumped down and ran far, far away from the window. Top-dog is cowering at my feet under the desk. I was planning to use them to prove how Lucy is so much more brave then Top, but she foiled my plans. Lucy is now wide-eyed and sprinting around the house at cat-speed. Me? I like the rain as long as I am cozy inside. If I have to get so much as a drop on myself, I turn into one grouchy girl.

I'm at home this morning, waiting to call in for our bi-weekly telecon. BORING!! Thank goodness for the mute button. I like to have the telecon on just loud enough so I can hear if I'm being addressed. This way I'm free to watch Regis and Kelly with minimal interruption.

Ummm, it's raining really hard now. I think I'd better go check and make sure all of the windows are shut!

Yesterday Kevin and I stopped at McDonald's for lunch. Mind you, we don't make a habit of eating at McDonald's, but it is fast, tasty, and accepts debit card. As we were getting out of the car we were approached by a handsome black man in black pants and a red shirt. I smile prettily and give an over-cheery, "HI!!"

Note: I have a weakness for handsome black men, much to Kevin's amusement. I receive constant bantering from him as a result.

Kevin gives me an "I know what you're thinking. How shameful!! And with your husband right by your side!" look. I think he is approaching us because he thinks I'm cute, regardless of the tall, good-looking red-head escorting me.

Handsome Black Man: Hi! Gold's Gym and McDonald's are teaming up to help advocate a healthy lifestyle.

We silently take the brochure and the free day pass to Gold's Gym.

Me: To Handsome Black Man: Oh, ok. Thanks.
To Kevin, as we walk toward the door: How embarrassing! Lets go not enjoy our burgers.

Handsome Black Man snickers behind us. Methinks he is enjoying ruining our lunch this day.

I know, I know. I haven't blogged in a week or so. I just really truly don't have anything to blog about. I have been so giddy over Belle de Jour posting regularly again that I have completely forgotten that I have my own blog to attend to.

It has been raining cats and dogs in Kansas City today. That means Top-dog and Lucy-cat had to spend the day in the basement. Top usually spends the day frolicking in the yard and sleeping on the porch while Lucy sits in the window and watches her. Top is scared of rain, though, and I am scared of the mud she would bring in after a day in the rain. So Top is banished to the basement and has to take Lucy with her as Lucy's litter pan is down there. This morning when I left, Top and Lucy were both extremely angry at the injustice. Top, that spiteful girl, left two stinky surprises at the bottom of the stairs. I truly think she wanted me to step in it...

...I have paused in the writing of this to cook supper. We had breakfast for supper. Top got in trouble because when Kevin wasn't looking she drank his milk. Yes, she sits at the table with us. Do you think our dog is a little spoiled? After supper we sat on the couch and became absorbed in the tabloid show, Entertainment Tonight. Then I remembered that I had to finish my blog. I'm done now.

Two Mothers Day Tributes

For my Mother:
It's hard to say what makes you such a wonderful mother. You just are, I suppose. There was never a time I couldn't trust you. I could come to you with any problem, and I still do, because you are my mother and you are there to help me. You are kind, you are gentle, you are wise. You don't pretend to know all of the answers. You admit it when you have made a mistake. You are beautiful, you are trustworthy, you are brave. You have done amazing things with your life. I strive to be as successful as you have been. You are a wife, mother, daughter, sister, teacher. You have touched so many people. You leave a positive impact wherever you go. I try to be all that you are. I love you and I am proud to call you Mother.

For my Sister:
You were nine years old when I came to you as a little sister. You took care of me, loved me, played with me, mothered me. I have a particular memory of going to Campbell with you and Tom. I was very sick with the stomach flu and you were so wonderful. You stayed up with me, came to me every time I needed you. I knew then that some day you were going to make such an excellent mother. As I became a teenager, you became the ideal big sister. You were always there to talk to, and always gave very diplomatic advice. I loved staying with you when Tom was out of town, just us girls! No matter the teenage angst I was feeling, I knew that you had not left it so far behind you. Now, suddenly and at last, we are friends. Nine years doesn't seem like such a difference anymore. You are the mother of two beautiful children. I am proud that you are my sister. Happy Mothers Day!

Usually I can't stand Oprah or the people who watch her everyday. I thought it was ridiculous that her show airs at two different times each day on local television so working women don't have to miss out. Last night, though, I put my feelings aside and thank goodness the show re-airs at 9:00 because Oprah had one full hour of Brad Pitt! I still think she's a despicable woman, and she asked Brad all of the wrong things, but I just muted the TV and watched Him. Yes, He deserves a capital H because He is oh so lovely. Yum Yum, give me some!!

I was home alone last night (which led me to Oprah) because Kevin was helping a friend with some heavy moving. I discovered that I don't like being home alone in our house at night. Once it got dark, I was very spooked. At around 10:00, I let Top outside and went around closing all of the blinds. I will try to remember to do that when it is still light from now on. Every time I approached a window I expected to see a bad guy peering back at me. It doesn't help that Top's way of asking to come inside is to get a running start and throw her body against the storm door. I screamed, let her in, slammed and locked the door, picked her up and RAN to the bedroom where I felt just a little more safe. This just spooked Top, which spooked Lucy-cat, all of which contributed to my panic.

I felt much better, and a little silly, once I was settled in bed with my new library book. Just yesterday, I got Deep Summer and The Handsome Road by Gwen Bristow. She wrote Jubilee Trail, which I read for the first time as a pre-teen and about 20 times since then. I couldn't wait to curl up with another one of her lovely stories and had started it on the couch, while ogling Brad Pitt on the muted television. So once in bed with my dog, my book, and the knowledge that Kevin was on his way home, it was hard to remember why I was scared in the first place.

I don't EVER want to hear a man complain about getting a routine yearly physical. If all we had to suffer was someone holding part of our anatomy and turning our heads to cough...well, ladies, wouldn't that be the bee's knees? The cat's meow? "Alrighty, I'm just going to lightly cup you and you just turn your head there and cough...OK, then, see you next year." PLEASE! Over here, I'll turn my head and cough! Me, pick me!

Clearly, someone's trip to the woman doctor has made her very grumpy.