Good Bloggy Karma

It's Friday. I'm a bit burnt out. My lack of gym time this week and the sudden influx of mucus and other icky sickness in my house is making me lazy in body and mind.

I'm done writing about blogher. I cannot bear to weigh in on world affairs or the recession. I don't feel like going on all green or soap boxy on you all today either. To think you all want to hear about how much puke I cleaned up yesterday would be delusional. TD tied a belt around The Comedian yesterday and tried to lead her around like a dog. It was hilarious and I got it on video but do you really want to see that? Good. Because I'm too lazy load up the video.

Instead I'm going to give some bloggy love. I met these wonderful writers last week in Chicago and I just need to share. Good blogging karma let your love flow~

KnottyYarn- Danielle was a speaker at Blogher and she made me almost liz myself. The rest of her blog is equally hilarious. Check out her reading here. You just might liz yourself too.

Halushki- I had dinner with Jozet on Saturday and found her smart, inspiring and a great source of advice. She's also one hell of a door bitch, black sparkly hat and all.

Dooblevhay- I heard her speak and it went right to my heart. I rarely do this but I met her later at a party and I had to give her a hug (I know!) and squeal with joy at how happy I was to meet her. Her writing is poetic and just beautiful. I cannot even do it justice with my own pithy words.

ChickyChickyBaby- She is totally going to think I'm a crazed stalker now but this was our second meeting and we spent quite a bit of time together this blogher. At one point we New Englandah's both tried on our best "Southie" accents and cracked ourselves up. We were wicked awesome.

Now go forth, read. Enjoy.

Maybe I'm Amazed or Just a Rabid Fan

Saturday I'll be checking off a box on my '100 Things to Do Before I Die' list. So I don't actually have a list filled out, it's all in my head but I'm keeping tabs on it. The 'See Madonna' box has already been checked. 'Visit Paris' is filled too. 'See Paul McCartney in Concert' is next.


I can hardly wait. The fact that my seats don't suck also makes me want to do a little jig each time I think about it. I almost wish I could start camping out in the parking lot of Fed Ex field right now.


I fully admit my taste in music runs the gamut of typical to "Seriously? You like that?" I love Disco more than most. Funk and Rap factor in high as well. My iPod is actually engraved with the words, "Don't Fake the Funk". McCartney though has always been a tried and true favorite. He was my favorite Beatle when I would listen to him in the car with my Mom (an original fan.) and then I stumbled upon a Pay-Per-View concert of him in 1993 that just sucked me into full fan-grrrl insanity.


The tape, yes, tape 'Off the Ground' debuted at the same time. I saw the video for 'C'mon People' while in Quebec on their very own Musique Plus network. I'm guessing that is Canada's version of MTV? I found myself jumping on my bed to the video and it was at that moment that McCartney's music came full circle in our house. My teen self was now mirroring my mother's youth. 'Off the Ground' played in my car, on my double cassette player and on my Walkman. Man, I'm old. It was like air for me and the songs on that tape offered me a glimmer of hope and a sense of positivity that I was desperately lacking at that time in my life.


Things were bad then and I was living a rather bleak existence that I couldn't even articulate. I dreamed of falling off the roof of my house more times than I should probably admit. When I thought about how maybe I would just be badly injured I just stuffed all the anger inside a deep pit within myself and let it swirl around creating a black murky mess to be dealt with at a later time.


Like a cliche though music was a savior that held me together and for some reason Paul McCartney became the man. Wings was heavy in rotation on the satellite radio station where I worked. The first CD I ever purchased was 'Paul McCartney- All the Best'. I couldn't get enough. 'Maybe I'm Amazed' is a like a balm on my soul every time I hear it. His songs have actually made me weep in the middle of a crowded diner. For a person who has a hard time hugging family that is pretty intense. Over fifteen years later I'm still a rather rabid fan despite the mess that was 'Flaming Pie'.

Did I say I cannot wait for Saturday night already? I might puke from the excitement.

Working with Kids. The Unsolvable Equation.

I woke up late today. So much for Body Pump. I fear I will never see streamlined thighs again.

I find myself running around today trying to catch falling yogurt cups before they hit the floor with a splat. Racing down the stairs with the dog who can't keep up and ends up tumbling to the landing in a yelping heap. There I am again on a work phone call, scooping cheerios off a high chair tray as I try to sound coherent and intelligent while TD yells in the background. That's just a fellow co-worker about to go postal over a PowerPoint presentation, right?

Five seconds later I'm emailing Gymboree about Bubble Camp and settling TD into a good hour of Sesame Street. Meanwhile The Comedian tries to rewire our entertainment system. I swear that child will know how to hot wire a car by age two. I think about how I haven't watched anything good in the DVR for ages and realize tuition is due for the new school year. Panting I race through our billing and write off the necessary checks. A deadline for two items looms in my not too distant future. A review is waiting in the wings.

The week started off slow with me spending quality time with the girls and I'm still trying to unpack from Blogher, process what I gathered there and organize myself and my thoughts. Do I want to go next year? Yes, I do. Can I afford it? That remains to be seen. My head feels all explodey and I haven't had nearly enough caffeine. I think I might smell and I crave a good enzyme peel.

When my husband asks me what I did during the day I can barely remember it all. It is such a blur. I remember the big things like dance class and grocery shopping but not the bazillion things I did in between. Somehow faxing W-9 forms, making phone calls, doing dishes, sorting laundry, wiping baby butts, while I invoice work and simultaneously write paragraphs in my head doesn't come up when I hit the daily recall button in my brain. The house looks like I never clean it and Blogher paper bits and swag pens litter my bedroom floor. It seems as if I'm lolling the day away perusing the stacks of magazines I acquire daily and letting the girls run wild. I wish our days were that easy but then I honestly don't think I would be happy with me. I don't know if I exactly thrive in this type of situation. I would like more order in my world but kids don't equate order. Working with kids is an equation that we are all still trying to solve. It's like Healthcare reform but more complex.


And if you still crave more Blogher09 nonsense, check this video out from Tellingdad.

What Happens at Blogher....

Stays at Blogher, right?

Look at me all grabby with Edward while my fellow blogger is so reserved.



Well, not always. Some things do come home with you.

Blogher 2010, I'm Talking to You!

Blogher 2009 had the theme of "Blogher09 is People". Every time I heard that phrase all I could think of was a quote from the Muppets Take Manhattan, "is frogs, is pigs, is chickens and stuff... is New York!" Oddly, Blogher 2010 is New York.

Now that I am home, sticky with teething biscuit crumbs and out of the bubble that is every Blogher conference (I swear the world could implode on itself and the only way we would know is if it was on Twitter.) I can see beyond "BlogHer is going to hell in a swag bag..." and the bad and the ugly that happened. I see the mistakes that were made and all I want to do now is to fix them. I want to help in any way that I can. I want to make Blogher 2010 even better than it has been in year previous. If all I contribute is the much-needed start to this discussion then so be it.

1. The Networking- In the past, the representatives from the various sponsors at Blogher were generous with the swag but also knowledgeable about social media and what we as a blogging community had to offer. They wanted to work with us and forge new bonds and create breakthroughs in this new media realm. Frankly, it was exhilarating in a kick ass sort of way. This year I found almost none of this. The companies sent reps that sometimes even asked the question, "Oh, are you a blogger?" Huh. I do not want coupons for tires or CD's on clothes. Please refrain from schilling your products. I'm not at a trade show. I do not care about detergent samples either. I just want to form a dialogue with these companies and figure out the best way we can all work together. That is what Blogher is about for me.

2. New Bloggers- I love you! I want you there! We all do. However, BlogHer is not only about collecting loot and reuniting with your online friends only. You are there to learn, network and you can do all that other stuff. That is why this whole conference was created. It is not a Bachelorette party free for all. If you felt lost this year then speak up and let’s start discussing how to make things better for newbies.

3. Old Bloggers- Veterans to the whole shebang might have come off as slightly bitter this year and I can see why. Only in my second year at the conference (my fourth blogging), I consider myself an "old" blogger. A dinosaur if you will. I think Amy said it best on Saturday night and in the most well rounded fashion (please, please, please post on this Amy!) "We were young once too and people frowned upon us. There will always be some new media/technology that comes up and/or someone or something we do not like. We have to respect it though." I am totally paraphrasing but she is right.

When I think of the reasons why I love going to Blogher it is because I am there to network with other bloggers and the companies that want to work with us. I go to learn a few things and to be inspired. I want to hone my craft to a sharp little gleaming point too. Typically, by the time Blogher rolls around I am feeling burnt out. It is just the recharge I need. It is also a perfect chance to have fun, see your friends and revel in this amazing community that we have all created and share daily. It is a beautiful thing Internets and I just want to take it back to its roots. I know we can do it too. We can move beyond the commercialism and saturation that we all just experienced, because if anyone can find a good balance and new way to do things, it is we, bloggers.

There is No Holy Grail.

Ahem... is this thing on?

Right then. Listen up, Internets! It seems we have a few issues to address here at Blogher09. It's come to my attention through my own personal experience, plain viewing and accounts from other blogging friends and blog-strangers that there is a different sort of vibe in the air here at the conference this year. It's not a good one either.

1. The Swag Grab- Yes, free loot is fun. I'm not going to say that I don't like to get free stuff. I do. But I'm not about to go elbowing a few babies, stealing swag bags off of carts or run into a party just to pick up a free key chain, phone or what have you. It is not why we are here. We're here to talk shop, learn a few things, network and see our friends. The purpose of Blogher is people. Got it? It's not getting your hands on some 3 ounce sample of Tide and a pink All Lollipop as you shove another well-meaning blogger out of the way. That kind of karma will just kick you in the ass later.

2. There is No Holy Grail- I know it is overwhelming. You want to see your favorite bloggers, your friends and meet the cool folks over at Nikon and Sprout. Plus, you want to make yourself known too. Blogher seems to be the end of the quest. The best place to search for answers to all your blogging questions and find that elusive golden chalice that will bring in tons 'o blogging cashola. But it is just not like that. Sure, you can make contacts, get some work and learn a whole lot but the secret to making money at blogging is that there isn't one. There is no tried and true formula. The truth is while money can be made doing this it is not big bucks money. It takes constant effort and a whole lot of time. It takes balls. You can brand yourself and before you do that you need to know what you stand for and who you and your blog are. You don't go into blogging to make some coin. It's just that simple. You do this because you love it. It's your passion- be it food blogging, photography or simply writing. That is all. Embrace it for what it is.

3. Manners- This ties in strongly with the first two points. We may be online half the time but that doesn't give us the free reign to lose our manners. Don't ask a blogger if they are "well-established." Don't go around asking "how can I make money?" repeatedly. Don't ask someone you just met if they can help you find a fave blogger of yours so that you can meet them. It's a tad awkward. It's off-putting to the person and doesn't make them want to get to know you further. Blogher is a wonderful way to meet other like-minded people. However, it doesn't mean that manners no longer apply. Don't make me throw an Emily Post tome at your head.

Now go, have fun. Blogher is people. Remember that.

More Repulsive Than Crocs!

Yes, I loathe Crocs. I jump right on that hater bandwagon. I won't let my kids wear them and when I see friends of mine clogging around in those boats I seriously reconsider our friendship. I don't care how "comfortable" they are. There is something to be said for not letting yourself go and Crocs to me are the epitome of "I no longer care how I look, in fact I haven't showered in days and I forgot what deodorant is" type attitude.

You can dress those heinous rubber shoes up all you want. Line them with fur, put heels on them and they still end up in the clearance section of Dicks sporting goods by the droves. For a reason!
Crocs, however don't have the ugly shoe market cornered after all. Not when Vibram Five Fingers exist.

Behold...



Is anyone going to inform the makers of the Vibram that no matter how long your toes might be they are not in fact fingers?

Just Book It

"When are you going to write a book? Quite honestly, I think you should. You have such a beautiful gift."

I've been told I should write a book for a while. Even Role Mommy said so! I have to say that I am indeed working on it. It's just incredibly hard when you only have blips of time to do that work plus everything else. For me to write a book or even get enough of my act together to send something off to publishers would take s o much concentrated time and effort on my part.

I promised H I would do it by the end of the summer but then my weekly sitter up and quit on me. So the whole working on the book thing isn't going as well as I would have hoped.

Here's the thing though- would you even buy a book I would write or am I just wasting my time?

Cheeseburgers & Vodka

Scene: I've just come home from an entire day of doing nothing but hanging out with an old friend. As I'm about to exit my car I spy H walking up the sidewalk to get the mail.

V: Now, there's a fine piece of man!

H turns and smiles and keeps walking. I enter our house which is quiet and empty feeling from a day of no one but the dog being home.

H: I'm a fine piece of man who brings home vodka and cheeseburgers!

Talk about perfection.

I Hear Nothing

You know what woke me up this morning? Myself. Then I sat there and read for almost an hour.

I completed my latest MPR review in under twenty minutes.

Make-up is strewn all over my bathroom counter and I don't have to pick it up in fear that little hands will commence their own smear campaign.

I'm meeting a friend for lunch today that I haven't seen since she visited me in the hospital with The Comedian. I don't have to be back at any time in particular.

H and I saw a movie in the middle of the day. We came home felt it was too quiet and went out for dinner. Crayons with place mats not included.

TD and The Comedian left for their Nana's yesterday. Since then H and I have had the most stupid looking grins on our faces.

I can actually hear the fan on my laptop just humming away. The quiet in my house right now is bliss.

The Thirty Second Vacation

I once heard the comedian Louis C.K. (he's not for everyone, I'll admit.) say that every parent gets a thirty second vacation. It's that brief moment when you have buckled them into their car seat, shut the door and walk over to your own seat. In that small window of time there is silence from the incessant toddler chatter and it is a little bit of heaven. A thirty second vacation.

Between the yelling of poo-poo pants (inside the bathroom only, but still...), non-stop questions that she has asked everyday, at the same time and just the noise. Oh, the noise. It never ends. I might just put the kids in the car and start circling it. You know, check the tires, my pockets, make sure my side mirrors are in the correct position and basically just get a few laps in. I'll crack the windows. Don't worry.

Read all about it!
"Blogher is Coming! Like the British Just Not as Detrimental."

My partial summer reading list is over at Role Mommy! Also, here's the radio show I did with Beth earlier this month if you care to listen.

Can You Feel That? It's the Awesomeness.

Scene: H and I are enjoying a moment of quiet. Also known as bedtime for the kiddies. We're discussing upcoming events in our lives, including Blogher.

H: You know, you should really post more about how awesome I am.

I raise an eyebrow.

H: I should also leave more comments because my awesomeness would totally radiate out from the computer.


On another note I had what can only be described as a pre-blogher anxiety dream.

I was traveling to Chicago from Virginia by train. How much would that sucketh? I missed my connecting train and the station, which at some point was floating on a sea of icebergs, lost my luggage. To top it all off some blogger I hate (who does not actually exists) was on my train with an ex-boyfriend of mine. I decided to be sweet and nice and chatted with them.

Five minutes into the conversation I find out they are getting married. As I'm about cough out a stunned "Congratulations!" (why on earth anyone would marry this guy is beyond me.) I realize that he is wearing a dress and ladies belted trench coat. And? The most hideous purple wedge heels ever known to man. I can't make this stuff up people. I blinked. Looked at this blogger and realized she totally knew she was marrying a man who dressed as a woman and thought, "Well, OK. Better her than me I suppose..." and moved on.

Later I find out that TD has been kidnapped and I am posting about it on Twitter for leads. Twitter totally helped me find my kidnapped kid.

I kid you not Internets. That was one twisted social media mess of a dream.

Zen in the Locker Room

The ladies locker room at my gym has never been a place I frequented until recently. Sick of driving home stinky and coated in sweat post-workout I decided that it was easier to pack a bag and shower there. My first venture into the locker room wasn't the best. I'm not down with being surrounded by other sweaty bodies (it's the germophobe in me.) or when people just leave their underwear on the floor outside their locker. Yes, really.

Today however was different. After running a particularly tough turn on the elliptical (intervals can be such a bitch) I sauntered in and decided to use the TV room (why there is a room with a couch and TV in the locker room I'll never know) as my personal space. I stretched, did a bit of yoga and then decided, "Screw it." I'm just going to lay here on the floor. I cranked up my ipod and closed my eyes. It was only about ten minutes but I swear I felt my blood pressure drop with each cleansing breath. I had managed to block out the world and carve a small piece for myself where my mind shut off ever so briefly and everything was still. It was magic.

Showering, dressing and doing my hair and make-up without so much as a toddler peep or infant trying to eat hairballs off the bathroom floor was just a bonus.

And now? Now, I'm excited to go back to the gym tomorrow just so I can find my moment of zen in the locker room again. Next thing you know I'll be throwing 'rat tails' at passersby.


I'm gearing up for the Blogher 5K next week. I feel my time will be slow as I haven't had much run time in the last few weeks. However, I have composed a new playlist (30 min.)that is helping to keep me motivated. Use it if you wish!

Slow Ride, Foghat (I find this to be the perfect opening to a run.)
Life Less Ordinary, Carbon Leaf
Maneater, Hall & Oates (yes, I'm a H&O fan. Shut it.)
American Boy, Estelle-featuring Kanye (of course!)
Bad Reputation, Joan Jett
Heavy Cross, Gossip
The Denial Twist, White Stripes
Fight the Power, Public Enemy (so good for when I'm feeling tired and like I can't go on.)
Don't Stop Believin', Journey (I hate Journey. This song though makes me think of singing in bars with girlfriends, puts a smile on my face and is a good way to end a run. To me at least.)

Mortality Looking Me Square in the Eye.

Last Friday I had my ultrasound appointment for my right breast. In the days leading up to it I could barely sleep. I felt exhausted mentally and then physically.

Each night I would lie down and my brain, lethargic during the day would instantly whir to life. All the cogs moving at warp speed and what felt like a million thoughts began zipping along my own personal information super highway. I wasn't trying to be full of doom and gloom but with the pain persisting in my breast there was this constant reminder that something just wasn't right. I dreaded the ultrasound but couldn't wait for my questions to be answered. I couldn't take this lack of sleep and constant feeling of worry settling in my stomach. Questioning your mortality is one thing but throw in a husband and two kids into the mix and I began to question myself and feel a sense of guilt if something was actually wrong.

But it's not. It's apparently quite common for women to have this knot under their nipple even weeks after weaning. The pain is gone after icing and the knot has gone down considerably. It has been an immense relief and yet my brain has not been able to calm down. The idea that my mortality was looking me square in the eye has been a bit too much for me to swallow. It's left me uneasy and I can't seem to shake it. I keep thinking there is another shoe that will dropping shortly and I don't know why. I feel like a shadow of something is always one step behind me and I really want to kick it's ass.

Flashback Monday: Lucky Star

I was probably about eight at the time. I called myself Aubany(with an 'O' and some sort of accent on the end. Yeah, I have no idea either. I was eight.).

I thought I was Madonna with my permed hair, sunglasses and ballet skirt. I guess that was as close to the 'Like a Virgin' look my Mom would let me get at that age. And yes, I'm sportin' a yellow banana clip in my hair. On one side only. Now that is style.

The Backwards Mullet & Chocolate World

While I'm not a fan or avid viewer, this woman just nails Kate Gosselin.

Kate Gosselin Match.com Profile Video - watch more funny videos

Opening Pandora's Bra?

I was watching the movie, Glory, the other night. I seriously love that movie. The first time I saw it, twenty years ago (gulp!) I cried for 45 minutes after it was over. I broke my rule of not crying in front of my family too. Maybe it was the sight of all those chest wounds that got me thinking, "I haven't done a breast exam since before I was pregnant with The Comedian". So I did one right there as I sat in my darkened den taking in the Civil War flick. What? As if weirder things haven't happened on your couch.

That's when I found it. The gumball-sized lump laying underneath my right nipple. I should have known there would be something. It had been sore for the last day or so and I had just said to H that weekend, "You know, I am always dealing with your little sprains, bouts with crutches, stitches and ER visits. It just makes me think that you are going to have to deal with something big with me." Cue ominous organ music.

I felt some more. I felt the left side again too. Then I asked H to feel it. Yup. There is indeed something there. It was tender to the touch and not the least bit pleasing. H told me I was a hypochondriac who was just freaked out about some email I had gotten regarding larvae infesting a woman's breasts through her bra. Gut instinct however, told me to call the doctor. Especially after noticing some swelling and not being able to sleep on my stomach any longer. There seemed to be some discoloring as well.

The doctor looked it over, felt me up and proclaimed it, "I'm not sure. Let's get an ultrasound to see what is going on there." She gave me sad eyes that seemed filled with concern and uncertainty and sent me on my way. I'm icing it per her advice and the swelling has gone down. I have an ultrasound scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I think it will turn out to be a cyst or a clogged duct left over from weaning The Comedian a few weeks back. However, one can't be overly confident about these things. I had to get it checked out. After all, it could be something else entirely and I just need to be sure. For my own sanity's sake and if I want to get all morbid, for my kids sakes as well.

I would really like to keep remembering 'Glory' as the film I cried for 45 minutes over and not something else.

Overheards- I am the Dog

Scene: The dinner table.

Me: "Ooh, Comedian you look so much like your Daddy!"

TD: "I look like my Daddy too! And you (pointing at me with her little plastic fork with much conviction), you look like the dog!"

H doesn't even try to stifle a laugh.

So what, this means I look like some white-muzzled, crotchety old Boston Terrier? That's just great.

Later that night H cannot resist petting me and saying, "Good dog, Vicky. Good dog." (Insert snickering from H here.) When I tell him I'm going to kick his teeth in he simply replies, "Nice doggie. Be a good dog." It continues like this for ten more minutes complete with jokes about no treats and being put in my cage for not listening.

And I wonder why I am having an identity crises.

The whole time this was happening all I could think of was this scene from 'When Harry Met Sally.'

It's Like I Don't Know My Own Blog Anymore

My brain is a bit fuzzy today. Probably from all the buzzing it has been doing this morning as I try and get a grasp on what this blog is really all about. See, I'm going to be on a little radio show this afternoon (2pm EST) called, Role Mommy and Friends.

I just know that the big question will be what this blog is all about and quite frankly I'm still trying to figure that one out. MPR has the reviews. And sure, I have issues that I hold near and dear and write about from time to time but it's not like I have some sort of niche. Not unless you count the daily tightrope act that I do where I try not to be a diabolical cross between Bree van de Kamp and Mommie Dearest.

I'm having a bit of an identity crises lately. How do you see this blog? Why do you read it? Help me Internets, you are my only hope.

Oh, and don't forget to listen to my nervous laughter on Role Mommy and Friends today.

She Thinks She's Jesus

TD walks into the room, beaded Mardi Gras style necklaces draped diagonally across her body and says, "Look, Mommy! I'm Jesus." The scene repeats itself over and over again on the stairs and in other rooms in the house. Daily.

Then earlier this morning she was having a conversation with her little friend, Wagee. When I say little I mean it. Wagee is an ant that made its way into our kitchen and TD has been trying to take Wagee all over the house. Mainly though they hang out in a corner of the kitchen.

As if the Jesus thing wasn't starting to weird me out a tad this whole, tiny pest-like friend in the kitchen thing positively wreaks of memories from a certain dead pop star and his childhood friend, Ben. Shall I remind you people that Ben was a rat.

What's next? An oxygen tank in her bedroom or requesting to be on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, thorns and all? Maybe listening to Kanye when she had colic wasn't the best idea after all.

On The Nightstand

I've been inspired this week by the summer reading bug, Newsweek and the blog, Everyday I Write the Book. I'm an avid reader, typically reading about 3 books and 2 magazines at a time. I read standing up while cooking dinner, I read in the car while waiting even if it's for a mere moment. I scatter reading material all about the house so that there is always something handy if I have a free second to read.

When Newsweek devoted a whole issue this week to author interviews, a revised 'must' read lists and the pure joy that is reading I found myself in a state of bliss. I had just finished 'Testimony' by Anita Shreve and I'm working my way through these two books as well. Books are piling up on my nightstand and my local library just waiting for me to unleash their secret worlds. A new book is exhilarating. So is an old one. I have a lot of favorite books from various authors ranging from David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs to Edith Wharton and Margaret Mitchell. There are a few I could read and re-read for the simple reason that they never fail to reveal something new, provide me with comfort and characters that I love to reacquaint myself with over and over again. Here are just a few:

Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell- My all time favorite book. I read it in three days at the age of thirteen and have been continuously re-reading it ever since. It has everything and the story never gets old to me.

The House of Mirth, Edith Wharton- The Gilded Age, a woman torn and trapped by the narrowness of her social standing. It is everything this History major and woman's studies minor focused on for four years in college. It's beautifully written and I fall in love with it every time.

On Leaving Charleston, Alexandria Ripley- Not very typical of me but it describes clothing, places and food in a wonderful way. It takes the reader through many decades that showcase the changes our country went through in the post-Civil War era up until the Great Depression. This history nut can't help but investing her time in it many times over.

Dry, Augusten Burroughs- At times dark, other times laugh out loud, tears running down my face funny. This tale of addiction and rehab is candid and identifiable. To me, it is Burroughs best.

I've got a whole slew of others but I would love for you to share some of your favorite books with me.

I'm Killing Me

I've been thinking about death a lot lately. Who can blame me what with the death of Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays and now Karl Malden. Last night I dreamt that Christina Aguilera delivered my baby in between concert sets while on tour in Japan. Don't dreams of birth actually mean death?

It probably also doesn't help that I've been contributing to my own death this week as well. I don't know how it happen but somehow I have a pack of cigarettes in my house and they are rapidly depleting. Can I blame the economy? How about the lack of paid work I have right now? Yeah, that's it. Take my meager earnings and blow it on kill sticks. That's wicked smot. It doesn't help that I have a partner in crime living right in my house either. Just when I think of throwing the pack out, H (a.k.a. Satan's personal cigarette girl) asks me if I would like to join him for a smoke. Gah!

I know, I know. Here we are getting all healthy (hands thrown in air with wild waving and sarcastic exasperation) and then blackening our lungs. It's sick. It's stupid. As if I wasn't already pre-disposed to lung cancer as it is. As if I didn't have two kids to live for. What the hell is my freakin' problem? Oh, wait. I know what it is. It's an addiction and I absolutely adore smoking too (smacks forehead). I think while it stinks (literally) and shaves years off my life it is divine. It's not cool. It makes you age prematurely and it is quite frankly disgusting. But there it is. That dangerous, evil little addiction. Each time I do it I try to envision myself on an oxygen tank, my lungs all black. It works for the moment.

If I don't stop I'm going to look like that lady I saw last week. I was out for an evening run and there she was short, satin robe and all, standing on her front step, smoking an extra long cig. She looked like death and I wanted to stop and say, "Hold up. Is there an ironic hipster movie set in the 70s being filmed around here? Because lady, you got the part." I don't want that. I don't want to wheeze while running either.

I've got to climb back on the wagon for good. I'm 33 effin years old for crying out loud. I know better.

*Read about my plans for nirvana at Honest Baby and how I'm a bit fried on the blogosphere at DC Metro Moms.

Just Pump It

Today felt as if it was the first day I went back to the gym post The Comedian. I joined the gym back in January and went regularly until I decided to become a Shredhead and train for a 5k. I ignored the class schedule taped up on the fridge and never gave it a second thought. After the 5k however, I felt I needed more. Since The Comedian has officially weaned herself with a snub nose and stiff arm to my chest I figured now was the best time. I can lose my weight and get toned up again. Simple.

Heh.

Before The Comedian I took a class that was all weights for an hour and a half a few times a week and I loved it. It challenged me and totally re-shaped my form. I felt fantastic and that I looked better than before I had TD. This new gym has Body Pump. Sounds fun, huh? Each time I think of it I think, " Just pump it. Pump it up." I took a peek at it last week and wanted to hide in a corner. They weren't using free weights. They were dead lifting with bars and discs! Oh my. Unlike my former gym there were men in there too. It was positively intimidating. Throw in the fact that by the time I'm done with the class and have driven home it's lunch time and I still haven't showered. I felt totally unmotivated. The idea of using the locker room kind of throws me. I just don't dig seeing so many naked butts and sweaty tatas. And I grew up in a naked house. Everyone always seems tanner than me and I can't understand it. I'm the whitest white girl, I swear.

It took me two hours to get our gear together and get out to the door with both girls. Everyone was ready and we headed off to the gym. After depositing the girls in the Kidz Zone (why do they misspell kids stuff?!) I walked to my class. I settled in with all my discs, bar, bench and mat. The instructor picked me out in a nanosecond and forced me up front despite my, "Seriously? Why the hell?! Grr...." comment. I loathe the front. Especially when I'm such a light weight user.

Fifteen minutes in I was feeling the burn. My quads were screaming and only the thought of it increasing my running speed spurned me on. After about three minutes of triceps I noticed the front of my shirt was drenched. My hair was wet and my arms were shaking. I feared decapitation by the bar. An hour later I felt light, exhilarated and like I was going to fall down the flight of stairs to the locker room because my legs were trembling so much. My sports bra was soaked and I just wanted a shower. Old lady junk in my face be damned!

Twenty-five minutes later we were in the car and I felt complete. The stress in my shoulders that I've been harboring was gone. I'm ready to go again. I'm ready to transform myself from post-pregnant Mom body to who I used to be. It feels terrific.

Oh, and does anyone else dry their hair while completely naked? Yeah, me neither.