At That Time in My Life (written in January 2015)

Last December, 2014, as my own Christmas gift to our Juli-Bean, I took her to see her first production of the Nutcracker ballet. We were meeting a couple of my moms-group friends, who were bringing their own little girls, as we had bought all our tickets together as a group. Juli-Bean wore her official Christmas dress for the season, donning a pair of glittery black, hot pink, lime green and teal blue Skechers light-up 'Twinkle Toes' sneakers. No joke. She had forgotten to gather her tights and her quilted, shiny metallic gold, dress-up mary janes before we had gone first to grandfather's for the Annual Johnson Family Christmas Candy Making day. She pulled off those Twinkle Toes though as if the choice had been deliberate, despite the initial moment of panicked realization she'd left her gold shoes at home.

We'd left candy making all too soon, to head to the theater. We had to park nearly a block away and we ran to the Peery Egyptian Theater with one of the moms and her one daughter, who we had met at a crosswalk. We were talking as we ran, and upon entering the theater, we found our other friend and her two girls immediately.

I have no recollection as to any specifics of what any of us were talking about... As we came through those main entry doors of the Egyptian and into the lit and busy theater lobby, a potpourri of fragrance hit my nose - old, aged theater smells of dust, lemony cleaners, and musty vanilla with hints of pine. As we gave hugs of greetings to our friends, and I handed out everyone's tickets, I gave Juli-Bean our two tickets, telling her she could offer them to the usher at the entry door to the inside of the theater itself for the usher to help us determine where our assigned seats were. It was meant as a deliberate teaching moment; We ask for help from the get go, to know where to go.

I had a hand held to her back, at the spot between her neck and shoulder, guiding her along, while looking down at her to see her wide-eyed, darling face full of awestruck anticipation. She had her two hands held together at her chest, holding and protecting our two tickets. The first pangs hit me, "I'm at that time in my life, finally," I thought. Tears welled up in my eyes as if on cue, but I looked upward to spread the tears and thereby prevent their falling. I couldn't be crying already.

"I'm finally at that time in my life..."

Juli-Bean was already familiar with the theater, although she hadn't remembered the place until we entered the interior of the theater, walking down the right-side aisle... We had been there on a mommy-daughter date in February 2014 for the Weber State University-sponsored Storytelling Festival, which she had soooo loved. She squealed with LOUD delight and cast her eyes upward, nearly coming to a halt in the center of the aisle -she wanted to confirm whether the twinkling star lights set in the theater's ceiling were on.

As we came to our seats, everyone taking their turn to find their spot, shed their coat, and get themselves situated, Juli-Bean almost forgot we were there for the ballet, and not for our friends alone. Without much of a wait, the lights of the theater were dimmed, and the orchestra pit -yes, a live group of musicians- sprang to life, deftly tuning their instruments for a brief swell, followed by silence and a cough in the theater audience. The first applause began. The conductor came out, gave a quick yet strong bow to introduce himself, followed with a sweeping gesture towards his troupe of musicians, who all stood and promptly sat back down. He then turned toward the stage and raised his arms, held for only a second or two, and then brought them down... and the sparkling, twinkling beginnings of the magic of Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Prelude began to be play...

I didn't even make it four full measures before my eyes were utterly filled with fat tears, and an ache of pure emotion swelled in my chest. When the flute first began to play, the tears were already rolling down my cheeks, dripping from my chin, and by the time the triangle began to chime away, my mascara was destroyed. I was so happy.

One of my oldest first memories I have of my own mum is of going to Ballet West's production of The Nutcracker in Salt Lake City. I remember sitting on the first row of the mezzanine, left of the stage. I remember clutching my mother's hand, my left arm outstretched behind me as I nearly leaned clear out of my seat, gazing down at the stage, absolutely rapt with wonder and fascination. I'm sure, not unlike Juli-Bean's first time, there were moments when I, too, wasn't entirely captivated, but once the themed dances began, my Juli-bean, just like I had been at her exact age, didn't miss a moment on that stage.

Another happy childhood Nutcracker memory of mine, it's also one of the few memories I have of my mother having long hair that does not come from a photograph... We were on a the mezzanine again, maybe my second or third time seeing the Nutcracker, I don't know. I looked at her over my left shoulder, she wasn't looking at me -she was watching the stage with a soft smile on her face and a look of serene peace, looking pleased. Her face was lit in a golden glow of light reflecting from the stage below. And I felt such love for her swell inside me -such happiness- and then I turned to see the Sugar Plum Fairies take their turn on the stage. This memory hit me as I watched the Sugar Plum fairies take the stage that Saturday with Juli-Bean... And I cried some more.

At intermission, it was every girl for herself in our group. Juli-Bean and I, we made a beeline for the bathrooms to get that out of the way, pronto. Thereafter, we wandered about the lobby looking at the displays and the Nutcracker boutique. Without having to convince me, Juli-Bean chose a nutcracker doll for us to purchase -I had always wanted one. We took some pictures of her posed in front of a life-size Nutcracker and took pictures of one of our friends with her own daughter... And this friend of mine, who had taken her daughter to see the Nutcracker the year before, for her daugther's first Nutcracker production, she said something to me that I will never forget: We've reached that time in our lives in which we get to do the things we've imagined doing with our children.

Nearly 4 years ago, when Juli-Bean was nearly a year old, it was then that I realized that if I wanted to recreate for my own daughter some of the pure joys of my own childhood, we had to leave Las Vegas.

We've been in Ogden for 2 years now. I'm hoping that for 2015, I'll get past the things that have held me back over the last 3 or 4 years, that have held me in anxiety and worry, with a panicked sense of no direction.

I reeeeally need to learn how to embrace my daily decisions that effect TODAY, and I need to live my life as it is, and stop waiting for when this or that comes into place. Some of it may never come into place, and I will have squandered away what I do have right now, right in front of me. That's what the Nutcracker taught me, with my 5 year old beside me, squeezing my hand in the dark of the theater.

The Way It Is

How does one know she's a bit hormonal = Listening to iTunes on shuffle, I turn the volume down to take a serious work call, and thereby, lose track of what's playing... then I turn the volume back up nearly 2 hours later to discover Bruce Hornsby & the Range is playing, and inexplicably, the tears flow like a faucet's been turned on... dripping off my chin, and I sit there, perplexed... what the heck is wrong with me?  And I place the music along the timeline of my life...

'The Way It Is' is an album that had been played a great deal the two years preceding my mum's death, and I remember one particular time, listening to it in the car with my father, shortly after her death, driving down from Billings, MT, through the Gallatin Gateway on our way to Bear Lake, Idaho.  I was watching for sand cranes, staring west out the car passenger window at the waters of the glistening Madison River, and remembering trips to Yellowstone with my mum and dad, wishing I could just stop time from moving forward, to just remain with my daddy, driving together in the car, indefinitely, listening together to the music of my childhood to date, 1987 at that time.

The music we listened to during my childhood years, it still sustains a great deal of my childhood memories of my mum.

Halloween Costumes for The Future, Present, and Past

Absolutely certain we'll have to dress our sweet potato girlie as Princess Leia at some point whether she'll want to or not... other Halloween consume ideas on her mommie's "Wish List of Halloween Costumes for The Future" (NOTE: I began writing this post the 8th of October):

Bumble Bee
Ladybug
Cheshire Cat
Pocahontas
Cowgirl
A Cookie or a Donut (and one of us parents can dress as a carton of milk!)
Witch
Red Devil
Tiger
Bunny Wabbit
Scarecrow
Dorothy from Wizard of Oz
Raggedy Ann

Hmmm... the above list requires she be willing to dress up for Halloween until she's 16 years old! We'll see about that.

She was a dragon last year (Smaug!) and the costume still kinda fits (just barely), so we were planning to reuse it, as the angel boy-O is certain - - make that was certain-- he'd be Frodo again for this Halloween. UPDATE: Just as I suspected, her big bro just returned home from a weekend at Disneyland with plans to be something else than Frodo: The Mad Hatter! Which is a fantastic idea... cuz perfectly enough, I now get to cross something off the lengthy "...Costumes for the Future" list: She'll be the Cheshire Cat!

Halloween Costumes of My Past: Note, I don't remember Halloween before my last year of preschool - - and the person who could tell me, who would remember, she isn't around anymore.

Age 4 or 5: Geisha girl wearing vermilion kimono with a floral and maple leaf printed pattern, and my hair spun in buns round on each side of my little head, complete with coral pink paper fans pinned therein.
Age 6: I'm really not sure - - I have no memory of either my Halloween costume, nor of trick-or-treating my kindergarten year. I would guess I was either a clown or a witch. I'm leaning towards circus clown. I do remember watching the older kids in my school's Halloween parade held in the upstairs gym though, and I remember thinking there sure were a lot of kids dressed as McDonald's 'Fry Guys.'
Age 7: I think I was either a clown or a witch -? Probably a clown again.
Age 8: Witch, I'm sure of it!
Age 9: I'm almost certain I was a witch again.
Age 10: Pat Benatar/Punk rocker - - far too much detail to explain this one. It was great and ridiculous all at once!
Age 11: Scarecrow - I hadn't liked this one at first, but by the night's end, I thought myself that I was freakin' adorable.
Age 12: At the time, I was going for a 'bum' look, donning old over-sized clothes and a scruffy brown hat, and I had a thin layer of Vaseline spread about my cheeks, chin and jawline, rubbed with coffee grounds (which were supplied by a neighbor, who's daughter, Kathleen, was also dressed as a bum as my trick-or-treating partner that year). The grounds were meant to inspire an unshaven look. We were out on our own until nearly 10pm. We thought we were the coolest.
Age 13: I was a Paisley Ghost - and my pillowcase of candy was stolen by some 15 year olds who rushed me. As I turned around to defend myself, it became utterly pointless with a stupid paisley bedsheet over my head, unable to see much detail.
Age 18: I'm fairly certain I did something, but I can't remember - - I should ask Mikie if she remembers.
Age 19: This one, only fellow Ricks College graduates would understand: I dressed as an early-married, early pregnant, Mormon Ricks College student, complete with a teeny, fine print floral patterned Sunday dress and a fake preggers belly - - Mind you, I didn't make it out the door dressed like that(not enough guts to do it), although 3 of my roommates with the same 'costume' went out and made a night of it that year.
Age 20: Zan, the boy-half of the Wonder Twins duo. This was the same Halloween a roomie and I decided to deck out all our friends from our apartment complex as superheros and villains, utilizing all sorts of creative arrangements and treatments of colored tights and long underwear, using both original purchase colors and dyed versions to match our needs, and various felt and/or satin appliques... We had Green Lantern, Poison Ivy, the Riddler, Cat Woman, Supergirl, Superman, Spiderman, Flash, Bat Girl, and Jayna, my other Wonder Twin half, roommate and fellow costume creator. And we all went out in public together as a group, each dressed in character, also behaving in character... like Chris, as Spiderman, who actually sprang atop a grocery cashier's checkout, looking out for Dr. Octopus, or James, as Flash, who ran 'Flash-style' up and down the grocery aisles when we had descended upon a Smith's grocery store in search of 35mm film when I'd run out. At check-out, film in hand, 'Flash' was nowhere to be found and the cashier actually used the store's PA system: "Flash to Checkout 10, Flash? Would Flash please return to the store front to Check out 10, Flash to check out 10." We also had dinner together at TGIFridays before our evening festivities truly began... Humpht. I guess by now I could have easily described the Pat Benatar costume from A to Z after this long-winded portion of my recounting costumes of the past.
Age 21: a Nerd from the 60s
Age 22: a Death bunny, all pasty faced with thick, black eyeliner, fake lashes, and black lipstick, wearing a long, straight, black-haired wig, a short, black velvet shift, and torn black pantyhose over burgundy tights, and a pair heavy heeled, black platform ankle boots. I was dressed like that all day long and it really freaked out a number of Provo, UT locals while I drove and walked about town.

This year I'm gunna be a witch whether the rest of the parents wanna dress up or not! So, I've got a little less than a month now to work on my witch cackle!

AGAIN: I began writing this October 8th...

Sooo My Witch Costume UPDATE: I have acquired a black gown with a scoop neck, elongated sleeves, and a hacked up hemline with a slit. I've also scored a black, kind of see-through cape with a hood that has a glittery purple-plum colored spider's web pattern printed all over it, and I've got some dark green and black striped tights to be worn with black, high-heeled ankle boots that don't reach beyond my ankle so that the tights will be more visible. The dark green of the tights is meant to compliment the green sheen seen in the plume of black feathers atop my witch's hat, which is a satiny black with a plum colored sheen to it, and also has 3 satiny plum colored fabric roses, front and center, and a black netted veil that hangs with little black plastic spiders here and there. The hat is what inspired this whole effort: It was my Grandma Joanie's witch's hat. I also have kind of Lady Liberty green costume makeup (more on the gray side than on turquoise) to be applied to any and all visible skin. Ohhh, and direct from Hong Kong (no really, I'm not kidding: post-marked from Hong Kong), I've got some long fake lashes that have a bit of purple feathers set to be aligned with the outside corners of my eyes. And then black lipstick.

"Past Due" or "Baby Haven"

Alrighty ~ Sooo, apparently our baby sweet potato girl apparently doesn't know she was due to join our family YESTERDAY!?

Yeah. Sooo, here I sit taking a break from work while working from home, still preggers... I'm trying to be patient, yes. Luckily, we do have plenty to to keep us prewhile we wait! This morning I couldn't sleep past 6am, so I got up and took pictures! of the baby's room! Check it!

What you can see from the top of our stairs:

The glider chair! Recovered! Like it? I love it!!!

I picked these up in '97 from Deseret Industries in Provo, UT. They've been in storage for over 10 years now, just waiting to don the walls of a baby nursery.

The frames had been a plain brown washed wood.. and I chose to refresh 'em with this variant blue and green mix.

And here's the cubby shelf! All loaded!

The left top-most cubby has this lil' turn table loaded with baby products.

The hot pink cubby is ALL Zero to 3 Month sized ONESIES!!
I am not kidding.

The bookshelf! The rainbow shaped pillow at the top was made by my Grammie Joanie and was once in MY baby room.

Here's her crib...

This framed poster is from 1992 - - I scored it from a read-a-thon library event in Cedar Rapids when I was in high school and I thought it'd be perfect for a child's room. See now? See how long I've been waiting for this lil' bambina to arrive in my life?!?

I'm going to hang this at head of her crib, so she can stare at it all she wants.

This lil' yellow checked seersucker toy sling will be handy...
Already has some cute stuffed animals in it waiting for her!

I have some other art pieces and frames that we haven't yet finished, along with a shelf I painted that will sit above her diaper changing table... Will post those eventually.

"Name That Tune" or "Name That Memory"

A song can begin play and in that moment I recognize it, I can be blown back in time, to some place in my childhood or adolescence (or sometime last year).

On the way to work, ZZ Top's "Legs" played on the radio... and I found myself getting teary-eyed as I turned up the volume and sang along loudly. This song instantly throws me back to a moment in my childhood when I was eight years old, living in Salt Lake City at the time, and I was sitting in the passenger seat beside my father, who was driving our white Volvo through some canyon, and "Legs" was blaring over the car stereo system, and we were singing all the words as my father twisted the steering wheel back and forth to the beat of the music.

My honey-man and I, we had called my father this morning to sing him 'Happy Birthday,' so he was on my mind this morning... Even still, sometimes when a song I strongly associate to my father plays on the radio, I'll call him and leave him a message with the song still audibly playing in the background, to let him know Journey's "Wheel in The Sky" is on and that I'm thinking of him... or whatever the song may be at the time.

And a few songs later, still on my way in to work this morning, Madonna's "Get Into the Groove" began to play... and I was thrown back to a moment when I was nine years old. A childhood friend and I, after spending a day on the ski slopes, and hours thereafter, swimming in a heated outdoor pool, we performed the song together in our swimsuits for our adoring parents in the warmth of a sitting room in a condo our parents were renting in Park City, UT. We also 'performed' a routine for "Material Girl" that night, complete with playing cards tossed about room and the wearing of costume jewelry...

Five minutes ago, "Bad" by U2 cycled through my iTunes player... and I remember late January 1995, I was sitting atop my tall, cinder-block lifted twin size bed in my Ricks College apartment, Harmony House, #302, with my portable CD player in hand, headphones set in my ears, having skipped to the track # I'd been told I had to listen to once he'd left, just minutes after who would eventually become my first-husband-to-be (2 yrs later) had hit the road eastward bound, back home to Iowa. And I remember the conflicted tears.

If I went through a list of all the music I own and some more, I could probably list nearly a hundred people or more, all of whom I've associated to some song(s) or some music artist(s). Hmmm, lemme' try something here:

ABBA: My mum and Johanna and Melissa Lyn
Squirrel Nut Zippers: Brin & Stephen
America: My father, aunt Radeane, uncle Kevin and Tyler
"Learning to Fly" by Tom Petty: Martens
James Taylor: My mum and dad, Grammie Joanie, my aunt Mary, my uncle Peter and Dillion...
NIN: Mikal, Marshall, Brad, Tina, Jeff, Jenni, and Marcus
Frente: Marcus, always
"New Beginning" by Tracy Chapman: Korose
The Grease Soundtrack: Whitney
"The Girl from Ipanema": Jake
The Cult: Sebastian
Cowboy Junkies: Mitch
"All I Want" by Toad the Wet Sprocket: Sandra Jean
The Yaz: Erik, Suzanne at Ricks, and Suzanne in Iowa
"Cannonball" by the Breeders: Trevor
The Smiths: Andy (plus too many others to name the all)
The Dixie Chicks: Emmett and Kimmy
Emmy Lou Harris: My step-mum
Beastie Boys: Poppy & James, and a whole bunch of 5th grade playmates
Hothouse Flowers: Lindsey
Cake: Foremost, Melissa Lyn, and then Seth & Karena
Stan Getz: my father and my honey-man
Shawn Colvin: My aunt Brenda
Erasure: Erik, Mikal and Demetri
Indigo Girls: Lara, Annie, aunt Mary, Suzanne, and my sister
"Red Wine" by UB40: My aunt Sarah, always
"Are You Gunna Go My Way" by Lenny Kravitz: Jasey
Nanci Griffin: Suzanne and my honey-man
Fugazi: Suzanne
Candlebox: Shelan
Southern Culture on the Skids: Johanna, Brin & Stephen
Jane's Addiction: Brandon, Ray, Jerry, Dillion, Amber, Mira, Micah, Matthew... and my Jacobson cousins

That was just an experiment... I could go on and on and on.

"Mah New Do!" or "Lockin' for Love"

Okay, so the 'short' of it is this:

I cut my hair and short, and here I am now!

The 'why did you do it?' should be the interesting part:

My mother died in 1987 of Hodgkin's Disease (lymphatic cancer). Before then, my mum lost her hair twice in the time I knew her. Consequently, she owned an eclectic array of scarves, knitted berets (those were the best!) and several colorful bandannas, and she also wore a wig. The first time she lost her hair, I was about 6 years old. I can remember hearing her cry in the bathroom at night and discovering big chucks of her long chestnut hair discarded in the bathroom trash, and then one morning, all of the sudden, she revealed herself with a short styled wig.

Our kitchen back then, living in Salt Lake City in our first home, it had a swinging door to some stairs that went down to our back door, out to our back yard and the unattached garage. One night, after coming home and inside from the back, I'd gone ahead of her and up the stairs and through the swinging door, into the kitchen... I turned to look behind me and that door was swinging back and forth, and each time it swung, I caught a glimpse of my mum who was standing on the stairs with her back to me... one moment she had hair and the next swing of the door? - It was all gone, as she had removed her wig! It was the first time I saw her bald head - - I don't remember at all what I did next, if we talked about it, or if I burst into tears or not, or whatever... but I distinctly remember the feeling of sheer and total panic rising up inside me. For as long as I can remember, I had been told my mother was very sick, but it really gut-punched me in that moment that she really was, indeed, very sick - - sick enough that she could die, as I'd also been told this, but it'd never really sunk in until that very moment.

After she lost all her hair, even though she had already been deemed terminal upon diagnosis at age 17, found in the 3rd stage of cancer development, it was when she lost all her hair that people truly began to treat her as if she were sick and dying. In fact, one of the reasons my longtime and dearest childhood playmate and I had hit it off so well when we met in kindergarten [Anna Dilemna is her blog alias], is that she, unlike most kids, was completely and totally unfazed by my mother's lack of hair, because her mother, too, had lost hers during treatment of a benign tumor... so I never had to defend my mother with her, and she would happily come over to play, even though my mum had no hair.

Anyhow, a few years ago, in the same town where my own mother grew up, a younger cousin of mine who was in high school at the time, Whitney, she had a friend diagnosed with Hodgkin's, and as a amazing sign of support, when her friend lost all her hair due to cancer treatments, my lil' cousin cut off all her gorgeous long hair and donated it to Locks of Love (go check it out!)... and I thought, of all the people to do that, I should do that!

And so, a couple years ago, I told my honey-man,
"After we get married, I'm gunna do that!"
And so, I did! Some child out there somewhere is going to be wandering around wearing a wig made of my hair!
It's true, I could have had kept my hair in a short bob, as it was long enough after cutting off a foot-long ponytail of hair for donation, but I told my hairstylist (the same who styled my wedding updo) that she could do with me whatever she pleased, which made her so happy!

And lucky for me, I love the results!

P.S. Just before boarding the plane at LAX for Dublin, about to leave on our honeymoon, I called my hairdresser to make my appointment for the same day we were to return to Vegas, just to be sure I wouldn't chicken out!

Romancing the Stone

I've been sick the last couple days (but I'm now wearing winter clothes, liberated from my storage unit last night ~ yahoo!!), and early yesterday, I began to develop a lovely deep and very scratchy voice... and it made me remember something from childhood:

When I was 9 years old, twice in the theater, I saw Romancing the Stone with my mum, and I just loved it! And from then on, I was in love with Kathleen Turner's voice. I wanted to grow up and have a voice like her... It didn't happen, of course. [SIDE NOTE: I'm remembering and realizing more and more often that my parents were purty liberal with me as a child, when it came to movie ratings and allowing me to view 'more adult' themes... e.g. I'd seen both Sixteen Candles and Breakfast Club when I was 10 years old - ?!?]

Back to Kathleen Turner: As a kid, I didn't know how to use the term 'sexy' to describe anyone or anything at that time, especially since I was entirely unfamiliar with the word's existence until age 11, BUT IF I HAD KNOWN, I would have described Kathleen Turner's voice as sexy. Mind you, I haven't heard her voice since she appeared as Chandler Bing's transvestite father in the TV show Friends... I'm not sure I remember what her voice was even like in Romancing the Stone, I only remember loving it as a little girl.

The voice I'm sportin' today is the closest I'll ever get to Kathleen Turner's deep and breathy voice box.
And this voice is hardly sexy.

Lake Wobegon Days in L.A.

ALWAYS, before any trip, I'm ABSOLUTELY wired outta my mind with excitement. Just last week, the night before flying out to SLC, UT, for example... I was up until 5AM!?! I had only two hours of sleep before going to work!?! Crazy? Yes. Avoidable? I haven't yet figured out how to rewire myself. Tomorrow morning -or should I say, later this morning?- I'll be hitting the highway for L.A., to meet my sweet lovin' FIANCE' (Woo-woo! yeeeaah BABY! YEAH!) for an evening 'concert of sorts' at the Hollywood Bowl. It'll be my first Hollywood Bowl event, and we'll be going with my honey-man's former spouse, dear Wendy, and her beau, plus a friend. Willingly socializing FOR FUN with the ex-wife of one's sweetheart may be unusual behavior for most, but for those unfamiliar with my world, we all enjoy one another immensely! So, as I had said, this evening "concert of sorts"~~ It's not a rock concert, nor any symphonic event... but Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion! Not impressed? Ahhh, come on!

Didn't you grow up with earthy, intellectual-type parents (mine, although truly capable of pure silliness, often behaved older than there were) listened to and read and enthusiastically enjoyed the wry sarcasm of Garrison Keillor and Lake Wobegon? As a child, forced to either listen in the car on the radio or in the kitchen, via purchased tape cassette recordings, didn't you ever feign "oh the torture," to not only catch yourself listening intently, but also laughing - like I did? Did you "grow up" on Keillor? No? Well, I did and I liked it. In fact, I love Garrison Keillor so much, when I took "Regional Creative Writing" in H.S. for a year, for one entire semester, we were asked to mimic the writing style of a notable Midwestern/Regional author of our choice, and I chose Keillor - - and I did well at it! WHAT?!? Doesn't sound like raging fun? Well, I haven't mentioned this too recently, but I'll say it again: I'm a self-proclaimed nerd. Anyhow, AN IMPORTANT NOTE Re: Regional Creative Writing in H.S.: I got an A each semester and became my favorite (can you say, "HOTTIE?") H.S. teacher, Mr. Pudz's teaching assistant via that class. ANOTHER NOTE: "Mr. Pudz" was not his name - that's an abbreviation. His real name is crazier, but in case the man ever Googles his own name on occasion, I won't reveal it. Although I must admit, I'm sure it wouldn't shock him (or cause concern) to discover I had had a crush on him (how the hell could he have not known!?!)!

Have a good weekend, everyone!

I am Wonder Woman!

Anyone remember Underoos? Now answer silently to yourselves! - I don't want to feel old here, nor do I wanna feel like a baby! Okay - so anyway, before Underoos came along to make things worse, I had always loved Wonder Woman and wanted to be her. I distinctly remember giving a shiny red apple to the Wonder Woman who came to our door, trick o' treating (this was a few years before the whole razor blade scare happened), the year I was four. She had the golden belt with the golden laso, the boots, the bustier and the hair. At the time, I really believed she was Wonder Woman... I would love to know how old that Wonder Woman chicky had been back then and to see just how complete her outfit had been. I'm tellin' ya though, I was starstruck! Wonder Woman came to my home trick o' treating! I remember that I told EVERYONE at preschool all about it! And thereafter, my insistence that I have my very own Wonder Woman Underoos became quite fierce. We moved into my parents' first house when I was five, and by then, I had two pairs of W.W. Underoos. I wore them around the house like my regular clothing... I also distinctly recall running the sidewalks of Laird Ave. in SLC, UT with my fellow Underoo companions, Whitney S. (a blonde W.W.) and Heather L. (Batgirl). Anna Dilemna? Didn't you and I also run around in our W.W. roos together too?
So check this out below = how apropos, don't you think?

My Results: (NOTE: Once published, the original table formatting goes real weird and I couldn't fix it, so I nixxed it!)
You are Wonder Woman

You are a lovely princess
with great strength of character.



Wonder Woman 80%
Supergirl 75%
Superman 70%
Spider-Man 70%
Green Lantern 70%
Robin 65%
The Flash 60%
Hulk 50%
Iron Man 50%
Catwoman 40%
Batman 25%

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

A Memory Sparked by Mihow

In 1987 at the age of 12, from a vending machine I bought myself a package of Ding-Dongs. This was not a common childhood practice for me then and remains a HUGE rarity today - I've never liked to purchase/consume plastic wrapped confections that have an expiration date/shelf life more than 1 week away from the time of purchase. Back to my story... with Ding-Dongs in hand, I then realized, "I can't possibly eat even one bite of these without some cold milk!" So I bought myself a carton of milk from a neighboring vending machine. Note: Up until this point, I loved milk. Soooo, Ding-Dongs in one hand, cold milk carton in the other, I took a big, big bite of Ding-Dong and then a big swig of milk to discover, to my ABSOLUTE HORROR, the milk was CHUNKY!?!? Out from my mouth I spewed partially chewed Ding-Dong and CHUNKY milk, everywhere! EVERYWHERE. The milk carton was dropped and its chunky contents spread across the tile flooring for everyone to see and smell the milk gone horribly sour. I then laughed so hard I made myself sick - those who were with me at the time it happened still mention the incident today.

For the record: Never again have I bought a carton of milk or a container of milk of any kind, shape or size from a vending machine of any kind ever since.

"Jail for Kids" AKA High School

EDIT NOW LISTED AT THE END:
I haven't beefed up my iTunes at work in a while and I've been getting sick of its current rotation - not more than an hour ago, it dawned on me that I hadn't used my Yahoo Music Launchcast in months. Happily, I tuned to "Annejelynn's Station" and prepared myself for a delightful, totally random mix to be taken from the artists and music genres I'd specified in my preferences. The first song that played was "Ask Me" from The Smiths! and I was immediately hurtled back into my adolescent years! WHAT.A.HORRIBLE.FEELING; a total mish-mash of emotions, all quite strong and a tad bit overwhelming, yet can easily be summed up by a deeeeep-quiet-guttural groan. I'm tellin' ya, NO ONE could pay me enuff to re-live high school. I'd rather return to BYU (coughing - gagging now - pardon me - clearing my throat) in a cold heartbeat than go through high school again. Now, don't' get me wrong, it wasn't really that bad - nothing truly traumatic happened to me in high school - but, I only say this because I know without a doubt that it could have been so-so-so-so-sooooo much worse... I still don't think my parents realize how true this last statement is. It was no walk in the park for them, but it could have been BAAHHHD - really bad.

In H.S., I was known as a very smiley girl, often teased about my squinty, disappearing eyes. I was easily amused (still am) and I laughed a lot (still do) and was friendly to most anyone (no change there) and very anti-cliques (definitely no change there either). I had myself a wide variety of different friends/acquaintances (still do). Those I considered my true friends, most which were seen as artistic eccentric types (still are), were few and far between (now spread about across several state lines). After my freshman year, thoroughly disgusted by clothing brand obsessions (still hate 'em) and the never-ending quest to look cool, yet cute and attractive for people I didn't care about (and still don't), I wore a pair of blue-tinted "John Lennon" style shades, my mother's navy, wool peacoat, began sewing most of my own clothes and donned boy's Wrangler jeans, much to my father's dismay. Consequently, an uncle gave me the nickname "F.C." for Flower Child. NOTE re: School ID Card: check out the eyebrows!? and I was plucking?!? The pic for this ID card was taken during my jr. year, although issued for my senior year ID.

Most teachers either loved and adored me or I was hated = I was a subtle (very subtle) smart ass... Frankly, I believe some teachers found me entertaining while others, I feel, just didn't appreciate the challenge. Moreover, I was seen as a teacher's pet by some, although in each case it was genuine on my part. I worked a couple semesters as a TA for two of my favorite teachers. I often registered for "Advanced Placement" classes to avoid total boredom, although my parents argued against it until the day of my H.S. graduation. It's no coincidence that my most packed, chock-full year -that would be my sophomore year- was my best on record. Most of my H.S. activities revolved around pseudo-intellectual and creative studies: Jr. Achievement, Concert choir, Madrigals, women's chorus, Lincoln-Douglas debate club, Model UN, Amnesty International... I helped establish the school paper recycling program, dabbled a bit in the school newspaper and photography, and the school's annual poetry and lit publication, "The Plain Brown Wrapper." I also loved my pottery/ceramics classes. Outside of school, I was on the "Young Women's" church basketball team and participated in various church sponsored activities, including roadshows, youth conferences and summer camps. I spent a few summers playing tennis and volunteering as "Buffy," a Girl Scouts summer camp counselor. I also enjoyed private art lessons and spent many nights a week attending a ballet academy. I was busy, BUHT (and I got me a big butt) I wanted MORE - !?! - girls soccer team, swim team, theatre, MORE! NOTE: This desire I had for more activity has in the past tainted my memories of all that I did do/accomplish. Only when I finally made a list of all I had done, could I rightfully deny my previous feeling that "I didn't do anything in H.S." The accuracy of my memories were not helped in that by my mid-junior year, I had nearly given up on all of my activities except a few I could maintain while at school - stunted by the consequences of my own reckless behavior and resulting parental mistrust and parental complaints. Moving on to my point...

Whenever I see a group of teenagers, my inner self cringes to see them in their awfully awkward state. A rare few seem secure and remarkably well-adjusted, yet capricious, nonetheless, and utterly clueless as to who they really are and what lies ahead. Most look so painfully uncomfortable in their own skin; so desperate to be "cool" and well-liked; trying so hard to look as if they're not trying at all; acting all aloof, as if they don't care what anyone thinks, yet their world REVOLVES around fulfilling the expectations of some image they have in mind for themselves = usually an image that can't be attained without some self-harm of some kind. Who can blame them? High school, by no means does it serve to prepare kids for the real world... it's more like a disservice, just like teen magazines - that's a whole 'nother discussion though.

Knowing I will have to deal directly with teenager(s) someday, whether it be my own or my honey-man's angel boy-O, my heart just aches with hopes upon hopes that they will not fall down in such a way that it will negatively affect the rest of their adult lives. There's so much for them to face in this world that conflicts with what we try to teach to our kids, and despite all our best intentions to help and protect, to advise and admonish, we're bound to make some mistakes along the way, AND they will/should look for guidance from others beyond our reach and control. NOTE: The latter is GOOD and HEALTHY only if they choose to look to those who have their best interests at heart. Furthermore, I do NOT believe a parent should be a child's only source of wisdom and guidance = it's no good if kids cling to parental advice, unable to choose for themselves, unable to determine what they want for themselves, taking on only what the parents envision = either way, kids must find and make their own way.

Seeing teenagers struggle, it breaks my heart on a daily basis. There are a gazillion mixed messages being sent out to teens from all over. Although some may try to claim teenagers are the most fickle, superficial beings on this earth (I sooo beg to differ), teenagers are usually the most PASSIONATE when it comes to whatever they've choosen to value. Although they tend to be egocentric (tell me who isn't?), their strong-felt convictions are the very root of their energy and power, yet at the same time, the very reason life can be such hell for them. Almost every experience is the end-all, be-all of their existence; everything is crucial. Whether they see a light at the tunnel (life beyond H.S. graduation) or they live exclusively in the here-and-now with no thought to the long-term consequences of their actions, their sense of worth rides upon so many different things, things that mean the world to them.

I spent 4 years of my life as a "J.K.F. Cougar" at John F. Kennedy H.S. in Cedar Rapids, Iowa - I called it "Jail For Kids" and I couldn't wait to get out. For me, my adolescence amounted to a great deal of painful confusion and self-loathing. And of course, these feelings carried over into my undergraduate years... blak. And after my divorce? "Damaged" doesn't begin to explain it. I don't imagine things will be the same for my honey-man's angel boy-O, thank the heavens that be. I hope he will instead have a healthy sense of self, independent of those who love him, yet well grounded in our love for him. It will be so important for him in his efforts to successfully deal with the daily challenges and lifetime decisions ahead of him. Clear, consistent communication will be key to help him. I have my fingers crossed.

EDIT FOR CLARIFICATION WITHOUT GOING INTO SIGNIFICANT DETAIL: I hated high school not just because it was high school, plagued by superficial popularity contests, cliques n' fakers and 2-faced kids, etc. Most of my friends who knew me back then, said then and even now that I'm one of those people who thinks about everything too much. Honestly, I had a lot on my mind in high school - most of it involved everyday family dynamics rooted in DEEP, PAINFUL family issues revolving around the death of my mother and my own personal struggles with the Mormon church. That's the OVERLY oversimplied explanation.

SPF ~ Mah 80s flicks, 80s pics and Can't Let Go

#1 Movies from the 1980s ~ heaven bless 'em ~ Especially those high school themed, cheesy, yet oh-so witty brat pack movies. The other option here for SPF was 80s music, but to show only one CD? or try to limit what I have to a mere few? - not only impossible, I don't want to insult the 80s like that.
Note: I did not begin buying DVDs until over the last couple of years. The very first one I bought on my own was "When Harry Met Sally." Thereafter, a loyal and indulging friend of mine graced me with the beginnings of a John Hughes collection...Movies from the 80s make up the majority of what I've got goin' - this is just a sampling, NOT that I have THAT many DVDs. My collection is meager compared to most.

#2 Pictures from the 1980s!!!



I started out looking like a lil' sprite - age 5 there, all posed and cheeky. And no, I'm not wearing any lipstick. And yes, you may note that even then, I was one squinty-eyed smiler. I have eyes, I do - I really do have eyes (see pic #3).
The next pic, age 12, just on the cusp of real adolescence - here comes the big hair, cut in a wedge, permed and bleached to a crisp with hydrogen peroxide - I think all the kids in my 5th grade class had the same orangy, brassy hair color at the time, having all simultaneously discovered the cheap "highlighting" powers H2O2 offered. And the 3rd pic, age 13 - only one year later, loaded with attah'tude - geesh. See the flaired collar? the unmoving wave of bangs? and although ya can't see it, my hair is pulled back with a BANANA CLIP! and you may not be able to tell, but I'm wearing a red-banded ever-80s Swatch watch. As you can also see, this picture is framed (?!?!?)! I stole it from my Grams (she might not even known this) several years ago, when I realized she still had it out on display.

#3 "Just Can't say Goodbye..." (apply sing-song 80s hair band ballad drawl)

#3 Something from the 1980s I just can't let go of:
This is my oh- so-1980s United Colors of Benetton wool sweater, the only one left, that is ~ I just can't get rid of this one, although I haven't worn it since 1997. I keep thinking I'll wear it skiing or something, but arhhggg! I can't just toss it! I can't give it away?! I can't. I CANNOT. I will most likely own it forevah. At first, Otis was quite attracted to this sweater, and I thought I'd have him model it for ya'll ~ but I nearly lost him in it! Later on, sweater thrown on the bed, I found him laying all over it purring like a little motor.


There are MANY other pictures taken from Ottie's Benetton modeling shoot, but um, they just reveal a little too much - don't want to get called in for animal cruelty.
Disclaimer: No animals were harmed in the creation of this post.

Stranger Danger - a MUST READ

This past weekend I subjected myself to the TV show "Dateline," featuring the story behind Joe Duncan and the disapperances of Shasta Groene and Dylan Groene. Why would I want to subject myself to hearing more about it and in such detail, my honey-man asked me. At that very moment, I didn't know quite what to say, but I felt the answer, although I had to bumble around a bit to find the words. Why would I want to know anything more? #1 It happened and cannot be denied, whether I want to ignore it or not. #2 It involves children. #3 It involves kiddnapping by a known child molester. Again, why would I want to watch this? #4 Desperately hoping to learn what went wrong - what, if anything, could have been done to prevent such a thing. . . hoping to learn anything about what to do in order to protect children from dangerous strangers.

I am absolutely terrified of literally losing a child. TERRIFIED. I can honestly think of nothing worse. A loved one dying from illness or common (or even uncommon) accident would be better than having a child taken. [NOTE: my mum died when I was 12 and although I feel this loss daily, as does my Grams, having "lost" her child in this way, she has concurred -better than to ever lose her or any child to a kidnapper; and my father's little brother died in a car accident at age 19 - also torturing my Gma daily, yet she agrees, losing him to a stranger would have been a hundred times worse.] I think I may be a tad' more fixed on it than most because of my own personal experiences... The first: a man wanting to "show" me something in a back corner of the public library bookstacks - he took my hand without asking and began to lead me away with a threatening voice and he wouldn't let me go until I screamed; 2) the time my best childhood girlfriend and I were romping around in our swimsuits in the school soccer field water sprinklers and we were approached by a guy who drove up with another - they had to be in their late teens - and asked us to give them a show sans swimsuits...I told the guy "no way" and that I was going to go get my mother right over there, pointing towards the school, although my mother was nowhere near; 3) and the time I was followed by a creepy man all dressed in denim, while I was walking to my friend's house alone. As I sped up, he sped up and I freaked out, convinced he was after me. When I turned the corner, I ran into a nearby yard and hid in some bushes - he came running around the corner right after me and stood on the next corner (short block) looking around for me; 4) And while in New York City for the first time (I don't think I've told anyone about this actually), a strange man claiming to have been a drummer for Rod Stewart started an interesting convo with me and we wandered a certain area of the Met together, chatting enthusiastically and then he tried to take me to an empty stairwell! That was in 2002 and I was 27 years old.

When I was little, age 4 or 5, I thought it was really hilarious to sneak off and hide from my mum in clothing or fabric racks. From my hiding place, I would watch her and when a clear path was available, I would then run off to report myself to a cashier clerk as lost, so I could hear my mother's name called over the loud speaker in the ZCMI department store where my father worked at the time. I remember being delighted by this, thrilled to hear her name, to then see how quickly my mum would come rushing and she'd hug me so tightly and lovingly scold me for going off without her. I loved it. The first time I tried this trick of mine with my maternal Gpa along with us? it was my last ever performance. I don't have any visual images in mind of the ultimate confrontation between us, but I remember how it felt and what I was told: he let me know that it was NOT funny in any way, a NO good thing to do, ultimately inconsiderate, and essentially CRUEL to my poor mother, who I do remember was off to the side of him, in tears... and by the time he was done berating me (rightly so), I was a bawling mess, truly humbled and devastated by what I had done.

Even then, I had a tendency to innocently wander off - like most children do. I think at some point my mother was sick of having to do all the work in order to keep track of me and she tried to teach me a lesson and boy, did it work. I wandered off and SHE did the hiding! Man, I freaked! When I had been the one hiding from her, I had always known all along where she was, watching her from my secret place, so I had never had anything to worry about. But to actually have lost her? Once I had burst into tears, she revealed herself, acting as if she'd found me. Our reunion was tearful and she didn't tell me what she'd done until much later on. At the time, the point was clearly, entirely understood: stay close to mum. The lesson had to be learned with my father too though - we were at a crowded Burger King waiting in line to place our order. I wandered off to the side, staring at promotional signs. My father was a devout believer in corduroys at the time - I returned to the line and clutched some man's corduroy clothen leg, thinking it was my father's. I looked up and saw a complete stranger looking down at me! I totally burst into tears.

I was 10 years old when we moved to Montana, and by this time, I was really good at sticking close to my parents. Late one day we heard the local news: at the very same fabric store we'd been shopping at earlier, there had been a child running around the store and the mother had kept barking directions to "come back," "stay by me," "come here please," "stop that," etc. She was insistent and was actually keeping a pretty good tab on her child's whereabouts, even chasing after the child at times. When the moment came for her to pay for her items, the child ran off to the entrance of the store which was in the mall - the store entry was maybe 10-15 feet away from the cashier is all? Someone took her child, right from behind her, less than 15 feet away. The child was never found.

And I don't know how long ago I saw this, but Oprah aired a show featuring "Stranger Danger." At some Chicago park, pre-recorded before the actual show, they staged things so that while Oprah was interviewing a parent they'd approached there at the park, the parent's child could be seen in the background, playing on the playground equipment. Without the parent knowing, Oprah had an older, clean cut gentleman approach each parent's child and he had a puppy on a leash and a hidden microphone to overhear him. As Oprah would ask each parent questions about how he/she had taught their child the dangers of strangers and each parent went on and on about how confident they were in their parental coaching of his/her child, you could see in the background and hear the older man as he approached the said child. Get this: EVERY. SINGLE. CHILD. -some without even being persuaded to do so- willingly went off with the man and his puppy. Only one child had hesitated at first, looking towards his mother and explaining he couldn't talk to strangers, but even that little boy ended up wandering off as the man began to walk away with his puppy.

At some point in the interview, Oprah would finally reveal to the parent what was going on behind them in the now far away background - along with several efficient assistants swooping in quickly for damage control purposes - pointing towards the new and distant location of their child, most of them unrecognizable, they had moved so far away. Every parent freaked out, some ready to run off and clobber the dog walker, while most were totally immobilized, falling to their knees and bursting into tears, as the realization of what had just happened sunk in. Granted, each parent had been thoroughly distracted during the interview, but the point was this... Mommy/Daddy had been right there with their child nearby in plain view and each child went off willingly with the stranger and his doggie despite any previous parental coaching against strangers. Oprah then had each parent view the playback tape of their child and the man - it made me cry. It was terrifying - I don't know how else to describe it, but it was absolutely terrifying. Thereafter, Oprah had several guest psychologists discussing what to do and important measures and how to respond when children innocently fail to follow their parents' instructions.

With all the news coverage regarding the Groene children, my fear of child abduction has been amplified. Even before now, when my honey-man's angel boy-O runs ahead of us, it absolutely freaks me out if I lose sight of him and it is soooo not okay for me. New plans are underway to research and reinforce the various concepts of "DO NOT TALK TO STRANGERS" coaching; more teaching and insisting must be done and we hope to give him the proper tools to deal with the WRONG kind of people if and when approached, to know how to assert himself against such persons before it's potentially too late. If a split-second window of opportunity exists in such a situation, I want my child to recognize this window before it may close. I've read that children often confuse seemingly nice strangers with how they've been vigorously and adamantly taught to have respect for authority and adults in general... children are essentially taught that adults know best. Once a stranger finally reveals themselves as the bad guy, it's too late for the child to assert themselves against the stranger; the child has already been led away or taken, already abused, and possibly -literally- beated into submission.

It's certainly one thing when a child is physically overtaken or targeted - I can only pray it never happens, but if my child is approached by a stranger in public, I want my child to know how to yell in defiance and defend themselves whenever I cannot be there to do it for them - and parents can't always be there, no matter how hard we may try.

I've heard and read it's better to emphasize to a child what is right and coach/train them to refuse what's wrong, and tout supreme respect for the differences. For instance, a child should know that going off with anyone -friend or stranger- without a parent's expressed and explicit permission is WRONG... And if that pre-approved adult were to try anything the child has been taught is wrong, I want my child to confidently reject that adult, no matter how much that adult may have been initially trusted or known by my child. Granted, even with the proper "training," children only have so much power, as they're quite limited physically, BUT I know from my own experience, it's important to give our children the license to use their voice.

I am from...

Intro: Got this meme from Susie ~ Ya use a particular format to answer certain questions regarding where one comes from... the format is found here.
My confession: As I compiled my own statements for this meme, at FOUR different times, I cried - ??? I was overwhelmed by the various things that came to mind - my roots and beginnings; all the people, the moments, and the many 'pieces' that are all a part of me and where I'm from. This meme was a wonderful exercise. I highly recommend it!

So here it goes:

I am from spotlessly clean kitchen floors, off which one could eat, and a die-hard family devotion to "Nordy's" - that's Nordstroms.

I am from 13th South and 13th East, from old bricks and peeling, wooden window frames painted chocolate brown and old leaded windows, from an unfinished basement that occasionally flooded, and an unattached garage from which my father carried me to the house in his warm arms at night, under twinkling stars.

I am from rows and rows of tulips and daffodils, irises, gladiolas, crocus and grape hyacinths, all lovingly planted and tendered by my mum ~ I was her trusty weeder, water girl and eager destroyer of snails. I am from delicate salmon colored poppies, intertwining sweet peas clinging to patio screens, furious fushia peonies bursting with petals, petunias galore and towering, gigantic stalks of blue delphinium grown in my lil' Gma Rae's flower gardens. I am from deliciously sweet, cool and crisp snow pea pods picked fresh off the plant, fat ears of yellow corn and long rows of tall bushy raspberry bushes, from armfulls of rhubarb grown by my Gpa Farrell.

I am from bone crushing hugs that lift you up off your feet, and a love for all things edible, especially anything with cheese.

I am from an undying devotion to Hires Big-H hamburgers and greasy french fries with loads of extra fry sauce, and New Year's Eve wishes handwritten on tiny pieces of paper, folded and given anonymously by everyone to all. I am from walls doned with photographs of those who are here now and those long gone and sorely missed. I am from my aunt Sarah and my aunt Mary, and my mother's two sisters, Radeane and Brenda. I am from the ever chatty Shirley-girl and Martha Stewart's up and coming rival, Victoria Ann.

I am from people who take on way more than they should, and yet they accomplish wonderful things for those they love.

I am from "you're such a little fruitcake" and "remember who your are." I am from "your thoughts become you," "money doesn't grow on trees," and "mind the Golden Rule." I am from "don't make your mother sick or she'll die." [I'm sure that old woman's goin' to hell in a handbasket for saying that to me - I was only 6 yrs old!]

I am from a long line of Mormons -Latter-Day Saints- some still going strong, while others happily, peacefully, confidently "dwindle in disbelief." I am from the self-realization that regardless of religious sanctions or a lack thereof, we all need to learn to love one another and treat others as we want to be treated.

I am from Scandanavian blood, also English, Welsh and Walloon (some Mongolians who played around with zee French and settled in Belgium!). I am from the queen of springform cheesecakes, the mother of all things that can be canned, and homemade baked mac n' cheese.

I am from a tini-tiny, most modest apartment in Provo, UT, where two young, courageously passionate newlywed college kids decided to take a big risk and get pregnant anyhow, and kept the pregnancy against doctors' orders and family protests.

I am from dusty, unopened boxes in an Iowa basement and forgotten drawers in Idaho, chock full of papers, photographs and memories. I am from 'Books of Remembrance' all lovingly, meticulously and painstakingly assembled to demonstrate and define centuries of family heritage. I am from stashes of horded personal letters, get-well cards, notes and memos, college papers and volumes of unread journals left behind by my mother.

I am from years of denial, self-inflicted torture and triumphant self-discoveries.

Would love more of this...

No, I have plenty of clocks and watches (if that's not apparent here). It's TIME!!! I want, I neeeeed MORE TIME!

And no, not all these watches work (although most of them do!) ~ I just can't get myself to toss 'em. Oh and in my defense, most of them were gifts! The blue one is my very first watch, a SNOOPY watch given to me by my mum when I was 7 years old. The first one directly to its right was my mum's last watch. And the one to the right of that is the watch I'm currently wearing on a daily basis. The huge faced wrist watch -if you can't pick it out from that description, I don't know what to tell you- was given to me by my lil' Grams for x-mas when I was in H.S. ~ I'll have to post a story about that one later.

Virtual Lite-Bright!

ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS wanted one of these as a kid - and as an adult, I still do! Mmmkay -well, by some standards I am considered an adult now! ~ no need to debate that really; no really, leave it alone...
Just Check it out!

I still would rather have the real thing...always wanted to do the 'clown' without using the template for help. OR how about this ~ very retro 60s style ~ me way way likey! cool! yes??? or am I all alone here? cowering ahhhloone in a dark corner? ehhh, fine with me, as long as I'm left clutching my lamp!

Sours for your sucker

Sat. night I picked my honey-man up from the airport. Last minute, before claiming his fine bummy, I had popped in a piece of Extra's 'Polar Ice' gum to refresh my kisser. After getting settled in the car and briefly reacquainted, I introduced him to my latest find: Extra's new 'Cool Green Apple' (not yet featured on their website). He and I (initiated by me) then began a semi-very- serious convo about the lastest trend in the chewing gum and candy market - sour stuff.

Have you too noticed this growing trend? Every gum and mint known to creation now has a sour cherry or sour apple counterpart or some bizarre 'blasting lightning' lemonade flave. Even Altoids now has an entire line of pucker-up-yer-puss products! and Bubblicous? they have a number of new sour chews --Savage Sour Apple-- to get my salavary glands gushing! In one 3 hour-long class, I went through an entire pack Bubble Yum Sour Blue Razz Berry! <---That website is totally annoying, be forewarned. oh, and although that Blue Razz is AH-MAZE-ZING, it loses its flavor fast, as do most fruit flavored gums.

Anyhow, not only have I always loved gum (very good n' healthy for you and your mouth), I have always loved sour stuff since I was a kid... I absolutely love to have my mouth watering. Call it an oral fixation, whatever - I love gum and I love sour stuff. This new trend suits me perfectly.

The love of "all that is sour" runs in the family too - my mother's fam, we all love tart and sour stuff: lime rickeys, vinegar this and that, lemon and lime juices on or in a number of different drinks or dishes, Granny Smith apples, sour cherries, WARHEADS!