The Simple Things…Boys are Mess Magnets

I had no idea what I was getting into when I gave birth to a wiggling, peeing on the OB yet still absolutely amazing baby boy. As I have already discussed, I always assumed I would have a girl and our lives would be filled with antique baby dolls, vintage Barbies, tutus, fairy tale books, and of course, a few messes and scrapes when she embraced her inner Tom-boy.

Nope. Not happening here.

I have a boy and boys are mud magnets. Now I do have to say, Kiddo is pretty well behaved and I run a tight ship around here, but there is just no way he can avoid messes.

I have learned to laugh instead of yell, to grab the camera while I catch my breath and sometimes slowly count to 10. The mess will be cleaned up. The memory will last forever. Sometimes the simple things are the snapshots of life that stick with you forever…

After baby powdering his entire bedroom age 2 1/2.

King of the mud age 3 1/2.


Hanging in his “mud hot tub” at 5.

Sometimes it’s just the simple things that keep us smiling…

Think Kiddo is the messiest kid? I do, so I’m linking up with Jessica at Four Plus an Angel for her messiest kid contest.

Shaking my Booty to the Beat @ Flirty Girl Fittness Class

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I’m still ~~wiping the sweat off my face~~ glistening after my first Flirty Girl Fitness class. My gym has yet to install the stripper poles or set up the chairs to straddle, but my hips and pelvis are feeling the burn and my leg muscles are still ~~screaming~~ singing after my slightly stilted yet still sexy workout.

After watching Terri Hatcher demonstrate her steamy pole dance exercise routine on an episode of Oprah, Canadian sisters Kerry and Krista Knee created Flirty Girl Fitness. They opened posh, ladies only gyms in Toronto and Chicago which feature a tantalizing lineup of classes including Chair Fit/Striptease, House Music Honeys, Pole Tease, Coyote Ugly, Burlesque, and Bikini Boot Camp. Their Flirty Girl Fitness Program is also available in a DVD set, complete with six routines, a keepsake box, and a pink feather boa.

Of course, I had never heard of it.

I had no idea what to expect when I walked into the “Booty Beat” class. One of my favorite instructors recently received her Flirtification (a.k.a. certification and official independent contractor license) to teach her own Booty Beat classes. I showed up for my regularly scheduled intensive Body Pump toning class to see the Booty Beat flyer taped beside the door:

Booty Beat is the ultimate sexy, fun cardio dance party! We take our moves
straight from the hottest videos and coolest dance floors and incorporate them
into a fat burning, super-fun, easy-to-follow routine to provide the perfect
combination of cardio and strength training. You will feel like you are a part of
a music video rather than in a cardio crazy, core chiseling, booty toning, arm
sculpting workout class. –FlirtyGirlFitness.com

I was already dressed in my gym clothes. I couldn’t just stand in the doorway looking like a prude or a chicken. I sighed, mustered up my courage, and walked into the class.

First your must understand something: I am one of the least coordinated women on the planet. I can’t make it through five minutes of aerobics on a DVD in the privacy of my own living room without thoroughly humiliating myself. During my last aerobics attempt my cat fled from the room while laughing at me (shh, I know she was) in her smug feline way. My feet and arms simply cannot handle two opposite movements simultaneously.

I am not rhythmically challenged; I love to dance, but only to music I can immerse myself within. None of that MTV choreography crap. I could never be a Brittany or a Madonna. I’m suppose I could say I’m a more sensual dancer, moving my hips along with the beat as my body follows along–more belly dancer than pop diva.

Luckily, the first class was nearly empty. Only three of us were brave enough to strut our stuff in a studio lined with mirrors. And I was miraculously the youngest. I said a quick thanks to whatever higher power for keeping the 17-year-old model/dancer gym regular our of class (she is sweet as can be but come on, my self-esteem evaporates in her presence). We started on a wide learning curve. Our instructor’s CD didn’t work. None of us had any experience with the dance moves. And well, we had to kick our inhibitions out the door.

The first move was the hardest for me: The Brittany. Just the name made me cringe. My hands had to perform four different movements while my feet danced at a slightly faster pace. And it was not timed properly with the background music. Not my most graceful moment. Other moves were much more my style: the sexy “Angel” (hands up then shaking your glitter down your body), the slowly gyrating “Corkscrew,” even the butt slapping “Oh No You Didn’t.”

Each song/routine consists of about four separate “flirtified” dance moves strung together and repeated at an aerobics pace. Since my instructor is more into toning than aerobics, she prompted us to pick up weights while dancing and modified some moves into more traditional squats and lunges. Oh yeah, I felt the burn. And not just because I was hot...

During that first class we laughed at ourselves, learned a few new moves our significant others probably wouldn’t mind us demonstrating, and worked up quite a sweat. It was fun. I didn’t feel as if I was ready to don my tightest tank top and a cowgirl hat and jump up on a bar for a sexy dance a la Coyote Ugly, but I walked out slightly more confident, more aware of my sexuality, and with my head held high.

If the class gains enough followers my gym may invest in some poles for our entertainment. Management will have to add a curtain in front of the peek-a-boo window; we don’t need any of the bodybuilders outside dropping any weights on their feet while gawking. And I might need a glass of wine (or two) before my first sashay on the pole. Adios inhibitions…

This first video shows a routine similar to what I attempted in class. Except we couldn’t do it as fast. Or coordinated. And my instructor is NOT a perky playmate barking out instructions.

And if we ever get those poles…

Florence + Flowing Skirts + No Fights = Fab Night

1 Reply

{Not me}

{Me}

After wasting an afternoon ~~playing fatter, wrinkly Barbie doll~~ attempting to find something hip yet age appropriate to wear to the Florence + the Machine concert (then embarrassing myself by posting my options online) I did what women usually do when suffering from a wardrobe crisis: I went shopping. I kicked all the outfits back into the dark recesses of my over-stuffed closet. I bought new dress. It was inexpensive. It was pretty. I didn’t have to pick out accessories. It made me feel good. Perfect.

The Hubby and I slogged through rush hour traffic in the rain and eventually made it to the tourist side of town. As we ran through Universal CityWalk we placated ourselves with dreams of a fabulous show and cold beer. Yes, I said beer. Wine is for home appreciation, good food, the Opera, and upscale bars. Beer is for concerts, NASCAR, and our English Pub.

Once inside the Hard Rock we slithered our way through the crowd to find the ~~perfect~~ best available floor space. I needed a clear view of the stage. I needed to have room to dance. And I needed to have no assholes in my direct vicinity.

Hubby claims I am an asshole magnet at concerts. There is almost always some jerk who feels it is necessary to completely invade my personal space, yell over the music to his asshat buddy or into his phone, spill beer down my back, and accidentally grope me repeatedly. Though I am shy and timid in everyday life, don’t f@ck with me at a concert. I simply will not put up with that sh$t.

Until very recently, I never though much about what I wore to shows. Standard uniform was black tank (velvet, sparkly, or vintage rock band), jeans and big black boots. Beer + big black boots = bravery. Get into my space and I would stomp you like fine grapes in a barrel. If someone dared to get pushy I would bum a cigarette and use it as a prop; a few burns and they would scurry away. Worked every time.

But now I wear heels or occasionally flip flops if it’s raining or an outdoor show. Stomping doesn’t work nearly as well. No one can light anything in doors anymore (which is nice because I hated coming home smelling like an ashtray). And I am with my Hubby who wants to be The Man standing up for his woman, but can’t really get involved. He’d be fired in a heartbeat if he was ever arrested for fighting. So I am on the lookout to avoid assholes and trouble. We stood five feet from security. I felt like such a grown-up.

{not Me, buy MY hair}

I did get a couple of “nice hair” comments and stares on the way to the bar and bathroom. Florence Welch, the lead chanteuse/siren, has my hair. I’m older, therefore it was mine first. I thank her everyday for making my I’m too lazy to straiten my waves in this humidity hairdo stylish.

The audience for Florence was mixed: emo teens, hipster adults sporting glasses and flannels, and a profusion of women. Many holding hands. Many whom I first thought were flannel-shirted hipster guys (sorry). Hubby surveyed the crowd and informed me point blank, “You are NOT allowed to get in a fight with a dyke tonight.” Nothing against lesbians whatsoever; most of them could have chewed me up and spit me out without blinking a mascara-free eye. Would not have made a fun night.

An Amazon stood in front of us with a child about Kiddo’s size. He was falling asleep at her feet. I don’t mind kids at concerts (we took Kiddo to see Paul McCartney last year) but not when it’s a sold out, standing room only venue. The poor thing was hugging his lovey and fighting to keep his eyes open. I feared he would be mashed into rock show road-kill.

As the floor filled around us, a perky, pig-tailed and bejeweled 40-something bumped into me. When I whipped around she hugged me and shoved her ten-year-old between us, raving about how he just looovveed Florence + the Machine.

Our one night out and we were surrounded by kids. Not funny, Karma.

Once the the band took the stage everything around us was forgotten. Florence Welch enchanted the crowds with her powerful pipes, haunting lyrics, and sheer Gucci-goes-goth get-up (see hot pants). Her gauzy costume floated across the stage as she whirled and danced like an ethereal pagan goddess while belting out tunes such as The Dog Days Are Over, Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up), and Howl. The band was tight; her vocals pounded through the venue and mesmerized the awe-struck audience.

Florence + the Machine is one of the few bands who truly sound great live. Florence proved how the award-winning debut album Lungs earned its title: she has one hell of a set of them. Beautiful. Ethereal. Utterly fabulous.

Hubby left with a huge crush on Florence Welch. Which I suppose I can deal with; when we looked up the YouTube videos of the show Kiddo raved how she looks just like me. Well, maybe if I was ten years younger, taller, thinner, had legs up to my armpits, and could carry a tune anywhere besides the shower. It’s nice to dream…

If you haven’t listened to them, give them a try.

Like my stuff? Give me a click:

A Little Bit of Happy

Rockin the Baby

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I’m hooking up with Shell for the wildly popular “Rockin the Baby!” meme today. It was a great excuse to dig through the FEW digitized baby pics I have available. When Kiddo was a wee little thing (nearly eight, yes EIGHT years ago!) we didn’t have a digital camera. They were new, primitive (my crummy cell phone has more mega pixels), and ridiculously expensive. His babyhood was cataloged on that splendid old antique called film, so my adorable baby pic choices are limited.

Oh, what I could have done with a DSLR.

I didn’t link up with Shells previous meme “Rockin the Bump” which spread like wildfire across the blogosphere. I never had any of those artsy professional pregnancy photos taken and the few pics I talked Hubby into snapping are not exactly flattering. Once again, FILM. We couldn’t see what they looked like until AFTER they were developed and handed over in a little white envelope. No editing. Scary stuff (especially the photo he took while I was in the middle of a contraction). Not for sharing.

Why do I feel like an old geezer lamenting the days before television and cordless phones?

href=”http://thingsicantsay-shell.blogspot.com/” target=”_blank”><img border=”0″ alt=”” src=”http://i904.photobucket.com/albums/ac246/shellthings/RockintheBaby-ThingsICantSay.png” />

**And in other news, in honor of the last space shuttle mission, please be sure to check out the Blast From the Past: Your Shuttle Stories on NPR. If you click through the slideshow of amazing photos and stories you will find ME at #13.

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Godspeed Discovery, Godspeed—A Space Shuttle Launch at Dawn

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April 5^th, 2010. The Space Shuttle Discovery was scheduled for launch at 6:22 a.m. at Kennedy Space Center.

As a native Floridian, I witnessed Space Shuttle launches from backyards and schoolyards since the program started in 1981. I have countless of memories of bright streaks of orange rising over the treetops and billowing vapor trails climbing through the clouds before breaking through our atmosphere into space. But I had only been up close and personal once.

This particular launch fell during Spring Break, the weekend of my 10^th Wedding Anniversary, and I finally had a child old enough to burn a launch into his memory. Everyone was free from work and school. It was time to go and feel one up close.

Getting to and from the Space Coast on a launch day is an adventure in itself. A sixty mile drive home can easily take over five hours. Highways clogg to the point you are forced to turn off your car engine to avoid overheating.

But this early morning launch was essentially a night launch. The last night launch scheduled. I had never witnessed the spectacular show up close. It was worth the trouble.

After an extremely dramatic weekend (Paul McCartney concert in Miami, Easter festivities in Orlando, and a near scalping by the family cat only hours earlier) we dragged ourselves out of bed at 3 a.m. I hastily packed a bag and carried my sleeping child to the car for our journey.

We made it to the Space Coast in decent time and parked a few blocks from Rotary Riverfront Park directly across the Indian River from the Kennedy Space Center. We could see the shuttle lit up on the colossal launch pad across the dark water. The crowd was massive. Thousands of drowsy tourists and locals lined the shore of the tiny park. Carrying a sleeping 6-year-old made the task of finding a clear view a little tougher, but we finally squeezed into a perch on the boardwalk.

The countdown was on.

Though we were crushed together in the darkness, the international congregation surrounding us remained on their best behavior. We chatted with a young couple from Sweden, some German Sailors on leave, tourists from California reverently waiting to witness a moment of scientific glory. Sleeping children crashed on blankets and folding chairs. Adults adjusted camera settings and zoomed in on the launch pad. The excitement in the air was palpable.

Suddenly the final countdown was on. Everyone seemed to hold their breath in anticipation of a safe launch. Fingers poised above camera shutters. Only whispers spread through the crowd before we tensely, excitedly chanted down 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1… liftoff!

Cheers erupted as Discovery’s orange flame illuminated the black sky. Children stared in wide-eyed wonder upon parents shoulders and a collective cheer sounded above the roar of the rockets engines. We could feel the powerful engines booming across the water after a slight delay. Discover had made it! We had lift off!

We stood glued to the spectacle above us until Discover faded into the darkness. The crowed breathed a communal sigh of relief as the light of the last booster rockets dropped into the sea. Strangers from around the world shared hugs of congratulations and relief. Tears of pride and joy mingled with cheers that beautiful morning.

Some tried to escape the melee before the sun tickled the horizon. Knowing the traffic would be horrendous, we stuck around for a bit to savor the sunrise over the Cape.

The blue dawn crept in slowly around the shuttle’s gray vapor trail. Within minutes startling oranges and yellows illuminated Discovery’s path like a flame licking through the sky. The view changed every moment; the startling colors in each frame captured by my camera morphed through every color of the rainbow. The early morning ocean breeze slowly shifted the spectacle from a con trail to a dragon to an ethereal face smiling down upon us from the heavens.

Godspeed Discovery, Godspeed.

An Open Letter to My Child Regarding His Latest Obsession: Flipping the Bird

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Dear Kiddo,

You know I love every cell in your beautiful, rapidly growing body from the tiny mole on your foot to the Molluscum bumps on your chin. I love you when you are being an absolute angel snuggled up to me covering me with kisses and I love you when you hose down the bathroom with errant pee. {You just may not realize my screams and rants are words of love and devotion.} But I do, I swear. Always and forever no matter what.

But I have to tell you, this middle-finger obsession is driving me too close to the brink of sanity.


{Not MY child}

I wish I knew which rotten little ruffian thought he was so cool when he flipped the bird on the school playground last month and exposed innocent children to this crude and obscene gesture. I have a strange desire to coat that brat’s finger with industrial strength Bengay. So he’d have to leave it up. For a long time.

Ever since that day you have a flagrant obsession with everything touching, brushing, bending, or grazing either of your tiny middle digits.

At least 25 times a day (and sometimes 25 times an hour) you come racing over to me, trying to rat yourself out by questioning the appropriateness of your hand gesture.

Mommy, I touched the table and my middle finger was a little higher than my other fingers. I that okay?

Mommy, I was scratching and my middle finger stayed on my arm longer. Is that okay?

Mommy, I was in the shower and the soap slipped out of my hand and my middle finger came up a little…

Mommy, uh, I was eating my sandwich and some jelly got on my middle finger and I licked it off so it was up and…

Mommy, I was peeing and my middle finger was on top, so it was higher than my other fingers…

And several times a day:

Mommy, uhm, I was thinking about my middle finger and…

STOP IT. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT ANYMORE.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out why you are hell-bent on ratting yourself out.

In the beginning I was patient and kind. I gently answered each and every redundant question. I have told you IT’S OKAY at least a thousand times by now.

No, you are NOT giving anyone the highway salute, the Bronx salute, the one-finger salute, the bird (as in giving, flipping, or flying the bird), or flipping off someone. You are NOT IN TROUBLE.

I do apologize for the day when I kind of lost it after you told me about your finger for the 68th time and I finally showed you explicitly what you are not allowed to do. I flipped you a perfect, intentional bird. And told you not to do this EXACT GESTURE to someone. That’s it. If you are not doing that exact gesture you are golden. The end.

But you still refuse to let it sink in.

You are a good-hearted and very intelligent 7 1/2 year-old. You can read Harry Potter. You are nearly at my level in math. Just don’t flip anyone the bird.

Tell me all about your day at school or at camp. I want to hear every detail of why Obi-Wan can wield a lightsaber better than Anakin (or is it vice-versa?) or how Sponge Bob can fart bubbles or how the kid in your group eats his boogers, but please, I beg you, not another freaking word about your middle finger.

Or I may have to tape your fingers together like you asked me to do last week.

What Does My Inner Rock Goddess Wear?

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Do I want to look like a clubbing queen, a rock star, a fashionista, ~~a SAHM~~, or an ethereal goddess? Thursday night the Kiddo is staying home and Hubby and I get to hit the Hard Rock to see a sold out Florence + the Machine concert. We haven’t been out in ages. And I am having a wardrobe crisis.

As a SAHM/blogger/writer I don’t get out much, but I ~~like~~ adore clothes. My closets and drawers are overflowing, and yes, there are many items I have never worn. Not the everyday boring stuff like yoga pants and tanks to wear to the gym and errands after if (I don’t feel to bloated and lumpy in the clingy clothes), shorts and tanks, skirts and tanks, and almost always flip flops.

The day I wore a pencil skirt and red wedge sandals to the grocery store I was stared at as if I had grown a third breast and a tail. It just isn’t done at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning around here.

So going out–and to a rock concert at that–makes for some major wardrobe decisions. I’m going to drink beer and dance my ass off. And I need to be able to stand for hours, so comfy shoes are essential.

Adding to the challenge is this week’s temperatures in the upper 90’s. Take a couple of thousand sweaty and drunk bodies dancing and bouncing against each other on top of that and it’s going to be ridiculously hot. No jeans, no pants, no sleeves allowed. And prey it doesn’t rain.

Two hours wasted playing a racier grown-up version of dress-up and I still don’t know what the hell I’m wearing.

Finding the perfect balance of hot but not slutty, hip but not like I raided my hypothetical teenage daugher’s closet is hard freakin work.

Do I show off lots of leg with black hot pants and a sleek black top? Too short? I spent twenty minutes staring at the back of my legs searching for cellulite.

Too black?

I find an irridescent emerald green top and belt it tigh around the waist. Damn, the Victoria’s Secret bombshell bra (aka boob job in a box) makes me feel like a stripper. But the green sets of my red hair and makes my eyes glow–awesome. An infuriating line of ruffles going down the center has got to go. I spend a half hour cutting the huge ruffle off and try it back on.

But my parents are babysitting. My Dad will pitch a fit if I walk out the door in heels and hot pants. Next.

How about a sexy but classy black dress? Hmmm, lots of cleavage and skims my sides just right, but it comes down just past my knees. I feel too respectable. And old. Next.

Why don’t I go long? I slide on a black halter maxi dress. I feel mature. {sigh} But it could work.

Another black dress (why do I have so many?) discarded. Clingy but neckline is too boring.

I try on a green halter top maxi dress with a patterend flowy skirt. Hmm… I pin a flower in my hair. I look pretty, not like a rock star. Do I want to do pretty? Will I dance on my skirt hem?

I find a vintage silk skirt covered with Warhol’s Cambell’s Soup cans. Interesting. Love this piece but I have never had any place to wear it–it’s dayglow colors just scream “stare at me.” I try pulling it up to make it a strapless dress–nah, too blousy. I pair it with a salmon strappy tank top–interesting. Very comfortable. Does nothing for my hair or eyes.

But the show is sold out. We are going to be packed in there like oily tinned sardines. No one will even be able to see my skirt. So it’s all about the top and staying cool, right?

Tops…how about the Asian halter with a pencil skirt? Or the black trapeze with the annoyingly flowy middle but interesting shoulder straps? Ugh, it makes me look as if I am knocked-up with a beer in hand.

And why do I even care? It’s not like I’m trying to pick up a date. Hubby already thinks I’m a catch (and if he didn’t tough luck–he’s stuck with me).

Sometimes I hate being a woman. These outfits all suck. I’m too old and boring and it seems my smoking hot rock goddess jumped ship years ago. Maybe I’ll just shove it all back in the closet and wear shorts and flip flops.

What do you think? Help a girlfriend out, please…..

Why I Can’t Find a REAL Job {Part 1}

26 Replies

It’s no big secret that I have been hunting for a job to supplement our income and give me a bit of my own life back.

I’ve only applied for five jobs so far but my phone has yet to ring with opportunity. Perhaps it’s time to start applying for the jobs listed below. All are real and unedited jobs(except to remove locations and numbers) I found on my local Craigslist yesterday.

Don’t blame the lack of grammar or morals on me…

Bikini Carwash

We are now hiring girls to wash and detail cars in their bikinis.. If you are pretty, look good in your bikini, are loud, have a flirty attitude, and can stand in the sun all day we want you!!!!
We are Rise & Shine Carwash located at XXXX at the Citgo gas station at the corner of Old XX Highway. We have two shifts 11-3 & 3-7.. or you can work all day!!
You will make all of your tips which range anywhere from 20$- 100$ a day… Its really up to you.. if you need are serious please respond to my add with the days and times that you are available
and a picture so i know what you look like and I will respond with my phone number…. Talk to you soon

Compensation: Tips..$40.00-$ 100.00 per day

seeking apprentice for body modification

for any or all of these fields:
Piercing
3D Body Implants
Branding Ear Pointing
Shaped Punches
Transdermal Implants
I’m a very motivated, dependable and reliable person. This is a path that I would like to otake to help shape the rest of my life. Please contact me with anything you think may be of interest to me.
compensation: n/a

ATTRACTIVE LADIES WITH COMMUNICATION SKILLS MAKE A $1000.00 WEEKLY

Growing company looking for attractive women between the ages of 18-35 to work for our bikini maid services…You can make your own schedule and we have morning, afternoons, and night shifts available. The job consist of performing light house chores. You can make a $1000 plus tips a week working part time!!! Serious applicants please send us a pictures of your face and full body!! NO NUDE Pictures necessary!!!If you have any other questions don’t hesitate to ask…

Body wax\bleaching assistant needed

I am looking for an assistant. I have been doing bodywaxing for over 11 years. I am slowly expanding my business. I’m also looking for volunteers to train on with students. I am willing to pay the volunteers for their time. I work in and cater to the adult industry so my assistant would have to be ok in that setting. It pays from $300- $500 a week. No experience necessary I will train.(ladies only)

Cleaning/Janitorial

A CLEANING COMPANY F IS IN NEED OF 2 PERSONS MEN and WOMAN PREFER IF THEY ARE HUSBAND AND WIFE TEAMS. DUTIES ARE TRASH COLLECTION, SWEPT FLOORS, DUSTING,VACCUM CARPET CLEANING, AND ABOUTH TWISE A YEAR CARPET TREATMENT EXPERIENCE AND STRIPP AND WAX EXPERIENCE REQUIRE HAVE OWN TRANSPORTATION., NEED GOOD DRIVING RECORD. BACKGROUND CHECK.
THIS IS A PART TIME BASE ON 2 OR 3 HOUR DEPENDING IN YOUR SKILLS
PREFER IF LIVE CLOSED TO THE JOB SITE THE HOURS START AT 8:00PM
NO ALARM SETTING CODE.,ONLY KEYS FOR ACCES
PLEASE LIVE ME A TEXT. MESSAGE AT xxxxxxxxx BE ESPESIFIC ON THE TEXT,IF LIVE CLOSED BY HOW FAR.,IF HAVE TRANSPORTATION.,IF HAVE EXPERIENCE
Compensation: $7.50 AN HOUR X 2 OR 3 HOUR A DAY X 7 DAYS A WEEK

Experienced Pet Bather

All Creatures Pet Grooming is looking for an experienced pet bather. Must have worked in the field for 2 years, have knowledge with ear flushing, gland expression, and different skin problems. Part time

Compensation: $9-10 per hour

female model or like model

Seeking a female model or like model that wants to suppliment her income or is looking for a great supporter. Must be intelligent, highly independent lifestyle, classy and single, be willing to travel occassionally, and ready to climb the ladder of success, whatever it may take…someone motivated to succeed in life. Please email photo.
I need only real people, fakes and criminals keep out.

Compensation: TO DISCUSS

Real Couples for TV show $$

Divorce Court is looking for married couples on the verge of divorce, or feuding couples that have been living together for at least 3 years. If you are a great talker, and want to bring your story to our show, please call us. Both sides have to participate. We will pay 570 dollars for each side in the argument, and we will cover your flight and hotel in Los Angeles. We want your story ASAP!

Compensation: $570 per person

I wonder if I could get a call back from any of these jobs? Doubtful. Maybe I should send a bikini shot along with my next resume…

My Summer Bucket List Sprung a Massive Leak

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1. Finally finish the 1st draft of my novel!!!!

2. Spend an afternoon in the hammock reading without being carried away by mosquitoes.

3. Break out the slip and slide and make a few good runs myself.

4. Accept my paleness and wear shorts with pride.

5. Find a rocking Sangria recipe and enjoy by the pool with friends.

6. Teach Kiddo to become an expert boogie-boarder.

7. Build a sandcastle at the shore.

~~8. Get a blog article syndicated.~~

~~9. Get paid for my writing.~~

10. Write an article for a local magazine or newspaper.

~~11. Join twitter.~~

12. Teach Kiddo to roller skate without either of us breaking anything.

13. Float down a cool spring in a tube.

14. Eat watermelon naked.

15. Help Kiddo read the first Harry Potter book.

16. Experiment with a new recipe each week.

17. Form a solid writing routine.

18. Transfer all our home videos to the computer.

19. Have family nights watching home videos.

20. Make s’mores over the bbq grill.

21. Make some kick the can ice cream in the backyard.

22. Dance the night away at a concert.

23. Take Kiddo go-cart racing.

24. Loose the couple of pounds that found me.

25. Be vigilant about sunscreen with everyone in the family.

26. Become a yoga goddess.

27. Read at least 6 books a month.

27. Swing on a swing-set as high as I can.

28. Celebrate pajama day with the family several times a month.

29. Make pasta sauce with tomatoes grown from my own garden.

30. Discover a new farmers market.

31. Finish at least one of the dozens of sewing projects in my sewing trunk.

32. Play family board games at least once a week.

33. Go out for ice cream cones.

34. Go to some writer Meet-Ups.

35. Make homemade fruit popsicles.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hold the phones…shit…a little bit of life got in the way…

36. Check out as many resume, cover letter, and interview books as possible.

37. Rewrite resume for any possible writing jobs.

38. Rewrite resume for any possible library jobs.

39. Rewrite resume for any possible retail jobs.

40. Rewrite resume for ANY possible job.

41. Apply for at least 10- 50 jobs a week.

42. Promise myself not to stare at the phone waiting for it to ring.

43. Try to keep a positive attitude.

44. Try to squeeze in as much family time as possible before there is no chance of it.

45. Keep up a strong front for Kiddo.

46. Get a professional haircut in case of an interview.

47. Cancel gym membership.

48. Attempt to catch up with baby book, school papers saved, and photo abums while I can.

49. Get a job.

50. Learn to embrace change.