I’m a black magic woman.

For the first time in a year, I actually ventured out of my baby torture confinement camp home sans a single child last Friday night. After the sun went down. For 5 whole hours. And, I drank a Coke® while I was out. A tall one. Call the authorities. Wild, caffeinated, big booty shakin’ woman on the loose.

I saw Santana in concert with The Derek Trucks Band as his opening act and both were musical crack to my ‘jonesin’ for a fix’ ears. Definitely a concert worth seeing. (although you’ll have to catch derek trucks later as friday was his last performance with santana; he’s off to the studio to record…santana brought him out towards the end of the show to jam together for several songs…wow, they complimented each other’s guitar playing so well)

Can you believe I was hesitant to go? E had been bugging me about Santana for months, prodding me to line up a few seats. But, I kept thinking, “I only know a few Santana songs. I doubt it’ll be worth the surplus of milk I’m going to stock pile while being away from the b00by drainers for a few hours. Ah.”

Man, was I ever wrong. (though, not concerning the dairy bazookas i carried out of the amphitheater…i contemplated breastfeeding the adults in the car and generously offering my milk to passersby)

The first few beats had the crowd on their feet and we only sat for a few minutes throughout the 3.5 hour show. I was elbowed in the face on multiple occasions by E’s pointy mid-arm joints which should have been confiscated as deadly weapons during the body cavity search at the gate. He is quite the enthusiastic concert-goer to put it mildly. I caught him actually pumping his fists in the air on more than one occasion. I also noticed several men playing their wee little air pen!s guitars. E kept his mimicry to air bongos.

There was so much energy flowing through the joint. At a few points, I thought I might shoot up into the sky like a rocket. (no, no drugs were involved…i didn’t even whiff any pot in the air as is usually par for the course at outdoor concerts…just a tall order of caffeine rolling through these veins) With the mix of latin, reggae, and african beats, it was the perfect elixir to raise the dead.

Sorry; I have to sprinkle a light rain on the Santana parade. A few songs gave off a Jesus Week at Disney World vibe to me. While he was promoting a worthy message of peace, love, and ‘can’t we all just get along,’ a couple of songs felt too baptist tent revival with Jesus and the Devil sparring in the lyrics. But, that’s just me. Most in the Alabama crowd were pumping their fists in the air and feverishly working their pen!s guitars during these songs.

The set list included many of the mainstream hits such as Maria, Maria and Smooth along with the always groovy Oye Como Va. What I had forgot about was Black Magic Woman which shares a tie with my blog title (a benign story that is probably interesting to only me; therefore, you’ll hear all about it one day). I immediately laughed to myself when the song started, remembering a call I once received from a dear friend (mr. president is my pet name for him…i think i called him one year on his birthday and sang a breathy, marilyn monroe happy birthday hence his moniker) as he’s driving, “This song just came on the radio and I thought of you. You’re a black magic woman.” Beware, my powers. (don’t you love it when someone “dedicates” a song to you…unless, of course, it’s a song about being a raving b!tch, although i’d probably admire that, too)

Loved the show.  Loved watching the crowd.  Loved the memories it brought back.  I needed the reminder that, yes, I am a black magic woman.  I’ll make a devil out of you yet.  ;-)  Don’t turn your back on me, baby.

 

All it needs are some sweet rims

My ‘lose weight/build muscle mass/become stranded blocks away from home because there is no way I’ll be able to push this mother up any steep hills in my current shoddy shape’ apparatus arrived. The stroller. Check it.

I should have positioned a quarter beside this monster to give you an accurate representation of its size. Suffice it to say, those bozos who gawked at me wearing a baby in a wrap/sling/björn? They’ll stumble over their own dropped jaw and slip in their gooey popped out eyeballs when they see me coming with the baby limo.

I dragged my heels forever trying to choose the ideal stroller to keep everyone happy. One quick stroll around the block yesterday afternoon - no complaints from the rat pack.

My only complaint thus far - it pulls to the right - hard. Maybe everyone had their weight shifted towards the right side. Maybe I need to fiddle with the wheels. I whipped the stroller together in a few minutes without paying much attention to the instructions.

We’re off shortly for the twins’ 4-month check-up where I’m guaranteed to hear:

• “Are they identical?” after I’ve just said one’s a boy and the other’s a girl. Oh, and nevermind the ebony and ivory-ness. Think, look, and compute before you speak, people!
• “We know who got all the food!” and “Leave some for your sister.” - Trust me. They are both little piglets at the milk trough.
• “Ohmygod, twins! I.AM.SO.SORRY.” - Did you break something of mine? Back into my car in the parking lot? You farted?

 

Excuse my excuse

A week later…again. Hi, there…again.

I could list the many reasons for my absence (again), but you all understand.

There’s a baby hiding at every escape route in this house. “Roger that. The Mama Bird is making an escape for the bathroom. We must remain steadfast in our mission to prevent the bird from emptying her bladder. Alpha Lima, engage in the caterwauling. Over.”

And, one particular baby whose name will go unmentioned ALANI! takes high maintenance - this purse with those shoes and that belt - chick to a fresh and frighteningly unexplored level. I thought certain university classes or ultra-sensitive lab experiments were a challenge? Shiiiiiiiiiiit.

What’s new and improved with the twins? They finally started acknowledging each other’s existence the past couple of weeks. Prior to the twin epiphany, I would position them face-to-face and they would blankly stare through each other. Oddest thing. Each would smile and chuckle at pint-sized Gab, but put another cup-sized person in the mix…fahget about it.

Long gone are the daily routines of slumbering like bears and idly staring into the great dark blobby unknown for these guys. It’s a constant shuffling of babies from this location to that location, keep your eye on the baby, where’s the baby, there’s the baby, move it around, move it around, oop the baby’s not under that cup.

They seem to be growing judging from the higher digits on their clothing sizes. Next week will ring in month 4 of Babies Gone Wild. I’ll post another height and weight count for anyone interested (mainly myself who is prone to bouts of extreme forgetfulness…if i don’t write it down immediately, poof!, the memory? she’s out of my life…i don’t even remember gav’s first word…i tell him ‘mama’ just to please myself…gab’s first word?…that i remember…it was ’sex’ said in a cute sing-songy voice…we’ve scared away many potential ‘couples with kids’ friend candidates when they ask the ‘first word’ question…she was trying to say ’socks’ as her grandmother was/is obsessed with keeping socks on her feet…socks, sex, potato, potahto…won’t you be my friend?).

**While no animals were harmed during the making of this post, breasts were suckled on 5 separate occasions.**

**Great. I’ve said breasts, sex, gone wild, and shiiiiiiiiiiit all in the same post. Googlepervs: Nothing to see here. Move along.**

 

Mmm Mmm M

Well, well. When I go for f*cking something up, I really give it my effin’ all, eh? I ruined the NaBloPoMo for April by being “lazy” one day, then having the internet take a hike for a couple more days, then what the hell…let me go ahead and crawl in a cave for the next week.

Random list of excuses:

• Alani doesn’t so much cry as she caterwauls. This makes me crazy.
• In a constant state of breastfeeding someone, the isometric hold technique of pecking out a post and comments with one hand is a bit tiresome and laborious. And, tricky. Try it sometime. Aim one nipple at a specific spot off to the side, slump up close enough to the keyboard to barely reach it with your “free” arm, then peck/backspace/peck away.
• Sleeping with a twin up in each armpit while I’m splayed out on the bed all ‘nailed to the cross’like, then carefully rolling side to side throughout the night to feed one while not crushing the other is giving me all kinds of funky posture and back issues. Not to mention the pit odor on the wee ones’ heads. “::sniff sniff:: Why does the top of Ethan’s head smell like B.O.?” Oh, I don’t know.
• A cold virus has been working its way through the house, first hitting up Gav. Then, snotting up Gab. Now, the twins are all cloggy and drippy and I started channeling Barry White mid-morning today. Time to start dialing up my friends and telling them with my deeeeep voice, “Remove your panties because we ’bout to get all freaky up in here. Oh yeh, baby. You know how daddy likes it.” Ahem. Yeh, I’m definitely suffering the effects of a cold.
• Gab has called a moratorium on all napping in this house. She herself will hold out until I make the 3:30 trek to fetch Gav from school wherein she passes the eff out as soon as he enters the car. “HI BO!” Then, immediate slumping of the head. (yeh, she calls gav ‘bo’…before ‘bo’ he was ‘cranky’ to her…i’m serious…she’d run to his door and belt out ‘CRANKAY!’…he went from ‘cranky’ to ‘bo’ sometime around the start of winter) It is Gab’s mission throughout the day to wake any sleeping baby. This makes me crazy and very pisssssed. Roar.
• Having not read a book since the arrival of the twins, my days without internet prompted me to pick up The Kite Runner which had been propped open to page 62 since who knows when. So, I used my “free” hand to finish off the book. Ehh, it was alright, I guess. I definitely didn’t blow my wad over it like others have. The high school short answer/essay questions in the back are a turn-off for me. Guess I should steer clear of book clubs, huh?

I could go on for days. But, no. I’ll get on with the show and finish my dang alphabet already. Sorry to keep you hanging.

(Letter de Leo Reynolds)

• Milkshakes - I thoroughly enjoy a nice, thick milkshake. So thick it renders a straw completely useless. There was a period when I would have to reserve a time frame of 4 - 5 hours post-milkshake to be home alone with my digesting shake and the havoc it created. (hello again, TMI, my old friend…poor bladder control AND explosive diarrhea…let’s party!) Fortunately (or unfortunately if you’re not into plump adipocytes), I am now able to chug a milkshake with nary a digestive complaint.
  • Having viewed There Will Be Blood this past weekend, this SNL skit now makes so much more sense. I DRINK IT UP!
• Mowing grass - Fulfills that whole instant gratification thing and spares the lawnmower from E abuse. I swear when E mows the grass, it sounds and smells like an industrial grade woodchipper is at work. You need to disp0se of a b0dy? Just toss it on our lawn…he’ll never see it and mow right over it.
  • Mowing grass is also great for getting out any pent up aggression I may be harboring. I do quite a bit of profanity slinging with my mowing, all masked by the loud buzz of the motor.
  • Lastly, I LOVE the smell of fresh cut grass. I’m not one to wear perfume, but if someone were to bottle fresh cut grass, I might spritz some on myself each morning. Fresh cut grass and cedar shavings. Who’s taking me out to a fancy French restaurant?
• Music, of course - I don’t know if a love of music is something you’re born with or you’re influenced by your environment. I do know I have always loved music and my mom was always singing (terribly, but singing nonetheless…i don’t claim to wail sing much better myself, but that still doesn’t stop me from subjecting everyone in the house and car to my non-stop karaoke).
  • I cannot understand nor relate to people who require silence in the car. Gav’s dad would CLICK turn off the radio which would cause my head to rotate 360 degrees, “WHAT.ARE.YOU.DOING?” ::spewing pea soup, spewing pea soup:: “Let’s just enjoy the silence.” You know that relationship was doomed a violent death.
  • Awesome brother P has always shared his music collection with me, sending me mix-tapes in college and now sends me cds of his latest finds. I wasn’t always so receptive of what he sent. I remember receiving a Rickie Lee Jones tape and not making it past the first song, “Ohmygod, she sings straight out of her nose. This sucks.” Well, a few listens (and years) later, I now enjoy her music, especially the Flying Cowboys album which is my album of choice for showers/baths. (oh yeh, i have a cd collection in the bathroom just for showering and bathing…let me check and see what else is in there…Sade Lovers Live, Kate Bush The Sensual World, Sarah Harmer You Were Here, Ryan Adams Heartbreaker, I Am Sam Soundtrack, Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals Live From Mars, and a bootleg special cd of Prince’s Return of the Bump Squad birthday performance in Miami, 1995…depends on whether i’m trying to wake up or relax as to who i’ll listen…or god forbid, i’m escaping to cry in the shower…surely, i’m not the only one to wuss out in such a fashion…flying cowboys works well for any of the above)
    • Man, that was a link heavy paragraph. I turn into a linking fool when it comes to music. I’ll throw in here, for the crybabies out there, if you ever need to work out a cry that just won’t come, anything Nick Drake will have you filling buckets.

Lots of references to crying there. I just hear so much of it from Miss Wee Queen of B-Movie Screamers, Alani. The backyard needs a good mowing.

 

Lay Lady Lay L

I know you have been on the edge on your seat in anticipation of all the ‘L’ words that rock my world. I apologize for the sleep you’ve lost while waiting in such suspense. If you worked yourself into a nervous frenzy of irritable bowels, again, I apologize.

A full brigade of phone company repair trucks lined the streets of my neighborhood all day yesterday, all for my one little phone line. It posed quite the challenge, apparently being “open” in two different places (whatever that means…any phone savvy folks out there?…how does a phone line become “open” twice?).

But, just before dark, my phone finally rang for the first time in a day and a half (it really doesn’t ring very often anyway as i’m not big on the phone…i’m quite svelte on the phone, ahem). I was excited to see my email finally check itself to reveal 53 emails…53? Did the blogosphere really miss me that much? No, no, no. My mother who rarely calls or emails, but when she does it is rapid machine gun fire over and over. She and brother P are visiting and seeing the twins for the first time tomorrow. She fired off email after email, listing things that she’d like to see while she’s here. No, not sites around the city. No, not babies. Gifts she’s given the kids over the years. The last request was -

Con’t. koala blankets etc.. Also, the crystal vase I sent to you & Gab. RSVP Love, Mom
Gigi

Ok. See how’s it “Con’t”? Yes, there was quite the laundry list preceding this last email. And, umm, crystal vase? Whoa, I’m clueless on that one. Lastly, I don’t know who the hell ‘Gigi’ is.

Annnywaaaay. The phone and internet was back last night, but I was a lazy, lethargic, lousy loser. As I was saying Monday afternoon…

(Letter de Leo Reynolds)

L is for Lazy, Lethargic, Lousy Loser. Hi! ::madly waving:: I’m totally over here!!

You know I was home with the bay-beez “alone” all weekend. I could feign inability to make it to the computer yesterday. One twin drooled a sizable pool on the hardwood floor which I then slip in, thus crashing to my near death. While splayed flat on my back, the twins skootch up to me and suck my entrails through both n!pples while Gab proceeds (not the eyes! not the eyes!) to poke out my eyes with her sturdy toddler eye-poker-outers fingers.

Yes, but no. Twas not the case. I was just damn lazy yesterday. L-A-Z-Y. Apropos for ‘L’ day, yes?

(you know, i think i lost a reader way back with my misspelling of ‘apropos’…it was one of those, ‘i know this is spelled incorrectly, but my brain just passed a whopping balloon of cerebral butt gas which is rendering me completely stupid at the moment, so i’m leaving it horribly misspelled’ days. karen, are you there? i really am not a complete ‘tard. i’m just lazy sometimes. ahem.)

• Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore- Yes, I realize I continue throwing this book in your face. I tend to do that with books I highly enjoy. However, my badgering ‘Read it! Read it! Read it!’ approach tends to scare people away. I know. I don’t learn my lesson. Bad, dee, bad. While I’m all up in your personal space, Read it! Read it! Read it! may I recommend Robbins‘ Another Roadside Attraction and Sedaris‘ Me Talk Pretty One Day? For the gazillionth time.
  • No need, really, to summarize Lamb. It’s all there in the title. Which, I think, is what scares people away. They are in one of either two camps:
    1. I am deeply religious and highly offended you could even suggest Jesus associated with a character named Biff. Hey, it’s ok. ‘Biff’ is just a nickname. He is actually Levi bar Alphaeus.
    2. I am not religious and do not believe in Jesus, much less his buddy, Biff. Hey, that’s ok, too. It’s a fictional tale designed to make you laugh.

• Library - We are all about the library in this family. I am always amazed and slightly appalled when I learn someone doesn’t go to the library. It is chock full of wonderful treasures and, most importantly, they are FREE.
  • Gab loves the age-appropriate story times they offer each week. Her 1-2 year old group sings several songs, repeats rhymes, listens to a couple of stories read by a highly animated/voice brought to you by Helium, Inc. librarian, and finishes off the half-hour session with a snack. Stories and free food? Come on. Jump on this gravy train.
    • The 2-3 year old group substitutes snacks with crafts. Since Gab turned 2 this past January, I haven’t yet gotten the balls strapped on together to tote the entire zoo crew for story time. But, soon, I will. I’ve ordered a double stroller with a seat on back for Gab which, in theory, should make such excursions a bit more doable. Or, at least contain all the screaming banshees within one cage on wheels.
  • Gav is all about high speed internet on computers that don’t suggest, “Wouldn’t you rather gaze upon this rotating rainbow wheel of torture instead of wasting your time on Runescape with 56-year old males pretending to be 15-year old girls who want to meet you at the roller skating rink in Tennessee?” The RAM on my Mac has extended its belt buckle way out past the last hole. It takes me ages to get anything done. I have far more patience than the ‘gotta have it now’ 12-year old. So, he jumps at the opportunity to use the library computers. (i wish i could say he strolls the aisles, seeking the next great read)
  • I’m all over the books, dvds, and cds. Sometimes I get so crazy with it, I actually reserve everything online. Then, I don’t even have to scour the shelves. Since the arrival of the twins, my library time has dwindled to nil, but like I said earlier, soon to be rolling caged banshees. The quiet library folk will love me.
  • Need I add how handy the library is in times of internetlessness? I.Love.The.Library.

 

D.O.A.

Just as I was writing a post about being lazy (’L’ day, remember?) and skipping out on yesterday’s post, my phone line went kablooey.  Now, I have no phone nor internet.  I might as well have E pull me around by my hair.  Maybe we can chisel a wheel from stone while we’re at it.

I was also waxing on about how I love the library (more ‘L’ day).  I escaped the house to pick up some tax forms (procrastinator here…i started the taxes a couple of months ago…did i finish?…of course not…but that’s what i’ll be doing today and tomorrow) from the library.  Hello!  I’m at the library.  I snuck onto a library computer to say Hi!  and I’ll see you when I see you. 

Ciao, mi gente.

 

Kooky kooky K

(Letter de Leo Reynolds)

If you’re wondering how the weekend is going, let me tell you…it is soooo peaceful here. That’s all I’ll say in fear of jinxing myself as I have yet another night during which hopefully no one decides to cry out (b/c you know, if one cries in the middle of the night, they’re all going to let loose). E phoned and inquired if Gab had asked about him any. One time this morning, she went to the air vent in the hallway, got down on all fours, stuck her face to it and called, “Dada? Dada?” “No, honey, Daddy’s not in the ventilation system. He’s in Florida.”

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

• Kaleidoscopes - I loved these as a kid. When in the toy section of any store (remember, i’m from podunkville…there was no such thing as a store full ‘o toys i.e. toy store…mygod, my head would have exploded had i gone to a bonafide toy store as a child), I spent my entire time milling through the kaleidoscopes, shoving each and every one up to my eye and swirling it around. As much as I loved them, though, I don’t think I ever owned one. I’ve bought a few for Gav here and there as he, too, fancies them. If I were to start hoarding collecting anything, I’d like to collect kaleidoscopes.
• Koala bears, specifically of the plastic eyed/filled with polyblend stuffing variety- Either here in broad daylight and/or in the shady confines of the comment section, wrekehavoc and I discovered our equal compassion for koala bear stuffed animals when we were young lassies. My koala bear was my favorite stuffed animal. I can vividly remember tapping on his shiny black plastic nose and carrying him around until his fur was all sticky and matted. While wrekehavoc (or freakhavoc more like it ::wink wink: called one of hers ‘Doctor Nostradamus,’ I don’t recall having a name for mine.
  • I realize actual koala bears are pretty nasty creatures, prone to outbreaks of chlamydia and whatever other venereal disease blows their way. Why I chose this lazy, tiny brained creature as my favorite is beyond me. Precious, cuddly, burns when you pee koala bear
• Kookaburra - I just like that word. Kookaburra. Kookaburra hootenanny. (i am so easily entertained…won’t you come join me?)

(Photo de SINGER)

 

H…I…J…what???

We interrupt this alphabet lesson for a word from our sponsor.

Hey, if you’re learning the alphabet through my April blog entries, come back tomorrow for the next letter. I don’t want to ruin it for you, so I’ll leave it a surprise.

Since there are more than 26 days in April, I can afford to pop in between letters here and blab about more nonsense non-letter related.

I’m home with the 3 babes sans E this weekend as he’s off being eaten by sharks doing whatever a bunch of guys do alone together in Florida. I told him to at least ask if whichever guy with whom he shares a bed has been tested and pick up some gas station lube along the way. His friends love me. ahem.

Gav was spurred up to be my assistant in weekend baby wrangling, but plopped in the car after school yesterday, “My throat feels scratchy. Like it did on my birthday. When I threw up on my birthday.” ::screech::goes the needle across the record

“Do you feel like you need to throw up?”

“No, my throat just feels scratchy. Like it did on my birthday. When I threw up on my birthday.”

“But, you don’t feel like you need to throw up?”

“No, my throat just feels scratchy. Like it did on my birthday. When I threw up on my birthday.”

(the boy’s consistent)

So, we drive home, I assign him baby duty from afar (i.e. rock the carseat in which alani is still seated with his foot while he sits on the couch). Meanwhile, I’m trying to dismantle the Jenga-dirty dish pile at the sink without it collapsing.

Then, I hear it. “BLUUUUUUUCK. BLUUUUUUUCK.”

Great. He barfed directly by the carseat.

Luckily, his grandparents live nearby, so a quick phone call and there went my weekend help.

So, it’s 10:55 PM at this very moment and all’s quiet on the battlefront. Life is quite peaceful with just the wee kids. However, I may be howling another tune come morning and I haven’t slept a wink.

(the above photo was taken the day before “My throat feels scratchy. Like it did on my birthday. When I threw up on my birthday.” when gav was most likely oozing with viral germs. fingers crossed no one else succumbs to itchy, pukey throat this weekend. regarding the photo, gav lost another tooth; i don’t remember still having baby teeth to lose at 12 years old…ethan’s ear is all jacked up there on the pillow; i forget to properly position his ears before snapping a photo…alani is disgruntled about health care in america…ME, TOO, alani, ME, TOO)

 

Jiggy with J

(Letter de Leo Reynolds)

• J, my brother - J is 10 years my senior and would sometimes pick me up from grade school in his souped up Chevy Nova. All my little friends had a crush on J with his well groomed afro and loud cars. Yes, I think he’s a fine lookin’ fella. I’ve always thought he looks like Aidan Quinn; of course, he would roll his eyes and bury his head in the nearest sand pit if he heard me say so. E and I think Ethan takes A LOT after J in regards to appearance. E likes to make me uneasy when Ethan’s at the t!t, “So, how does it feel to be breastfeeding your brother?”
  • Check out J’s baby photo. Go ahead and think it. It’s ok. Yes, his brain is protruding from the top of his skull. By the Power of Grayskull! I HAVE THE POWER! Shave off a few feet inches from the upper head and can’t you see Ethan? So, now I’m forced to say great things about J. Kidding. He is an awesome guy.
  • Aha, below is a classic J ‘fro pic. Check.us.out! J is to the right there, looking too cool for school and, on this particular day, his ‘fro seems to have a touch of Princess Leia action on the sides. Awesome. I have no idea who the other folks are but they seem to be equally thinking, “This place blows!” Oooh, aren’t you diggin’ my Mom jeans there? Could I get them pulled up any higher? I think not.

    

• Jigsaw puzzles - (note: i’m having a hard time concentrating with that travesty of a photo hanging above…what is up with my dorky posture? my right arm appears to be a good whole hand longer than the left…i’m obsessing…sorry…oh, if i continued wearing my pants like that, i could measure my bra size by my belt)
  • JIGSAW PUZZLES!! WEEEEEE! I remember bugging the everloving sh!t out of my brothers my brothers P and J working on puzzles and teaching me all about the proper orientation of pieces and how to study the pieces to know what will fit before even trying to wedge them together. (ha, i make it sound like neurosurgery…careful, careful, one wrong move and he’ll be paralyzed for life)
  • During my teenage years, I was K-RAY-Z for jigsaw puzzles…would stay up all night to finish a puzzle…still have probably a good 20 puzzles, each glued to particle board front and back, under my bed at my mom’s house. The tinier the pieces, the better. Anything under 1000 pieces was a total waste of my time. P finally challenged me with an impossible puzzle (i think that was the actual name of the puzzle…impossible) - it was a blue background with various goldfish scattered about - the catch was there were 10 or so extra pieces that didn’t fit in the puzzle. What?! I never completed it.
  • I picked up my jigsaw puzzle obsession again in grad school, but had this insane puzzle eating cat that went batsh!t crazy on a Frida Khalo puzzle I had mounted on the wall. I was away for a week at a neuroscience convention (exciting, i know…let me tell you, neuroscientists know how to party, though…all those days pent-up in a lab…they let their freak flags fly at the conventions…just so’s you know), but I had a friend visiting my apartment each day to feed and play with the cat. Toward the end of the week, she said she went in and thought the place had been robbed…plants were kicked over, dirt everywhere, and my precious Frida Khalo puzzle was destroyed. That was the last puzzle I worked. Also, the last cat I had.

 

Inescapable I

(Letter de Leo Reynolds)

• Ice - I am one of those annoying folks that munches/crunches ice. ::crunch crunch crunch:: I especially like the tiny cylindrical shaped pieces of ice. I also like my drinks super cold, thus more ice for the munching.
  • When I’m sick, ice has proven time and time again to be the only thing I can stomach. Ice. It does a puking body good.
• Icees - Specifically red or blue. (hey, who’s 4-years old? what flavor do you want? i want red.)
  • I remember first getting Icees with my mom at our local Big K. She knew the woman behind the counter, so they were always free for me.
  • When I was pregnant with Gav, red Icees from the gas station on the corner below our apartment were THE ONLY thing I could keep down during the first trimester. Any acts of brilliancy he may exhibit…all thanks to red Icees.
• Ice cream - Yeh, this ‘I’ list is nothing but chilly junk, eh? My addiction to ice cream is becoming a problem as I get older. It seems to be finding permanent homes about my body. My favorite flavors are pistachio almond, butter pecan, and cherry vanilla. A good old fashioned vanilla is pretty tasty, too. Oink Oink.
• iTunes, iPod…all musical things little ‘i’ - I have an older model 40 GB iPod which people see and gasp, “Ohmygod! That thing’s huge!” If I were a guy, I’d be flattered. But, really, I don’t see the need to make the dang things any smaller. What’s next? Maybe a patch I slap on my buttock…infuses tunes directly to my auditory center from my butt all day? Yeh, that’s what I need. I love my music (hello ‘M’ day) and love having my tunes with me at all times. My trusty little iPod does its job quite well. And, being a Mac Momma (hello again ‘M’ day), iTunes is my music storage center.

I’ll be back. (tomorrow…with Jo Jo J)