As some of you know, this blog is the result of a blog writing course I took called “Black Belt Blogging.”  It was an amazing experience, and I met some terrific new bloggers, many of whom are still on my blogroll!  The class was a transformational time for me, because it opened up my eyes to the inspirational world of blogging, which has let me have fun and express myself in ways I had forgotten I could. Black Belt Mama made for an incredible guide and teacher, because in my opinion, she has one of the most enjoyable blogs in the webiverse.  Please drop by and check out her site if you get a chance…but wait till you have a few minutes, because her blog will draw you in and pull you deep into the archives before you will be able to click away. 

That online blog writing course, however, is getting a new name, and a facelift, and is sporting a new free introductory blogging course in addition to the full subscription-based course that I took.  I highly recommend either to anyone who wants to start a blog or build a better one that will draw in readers.  I’ve agreed to contribute to the new blog promoting the course, and I hope you’ll stop by and check out the latest addition to my blogging resume. Who knew that I, the gal that barely knew anything about blogs six months ago, would now be blogging about blogging??!! 

Hey, I’ll use any excuse to stay tethered to my laptop a few more minutes…

Do waivers make you nervous?  I had no idea I had a phobia of waivers until this week, when I’ve had to sign a BUNCH of them for H-T’s manatee trip.  Yep, this is the big week, and obviously that means time to sign away H-T’s life so that no one gets ((((shudder)))) sued or something.  They need waivers for his travel, waivers for his scuba dives, waivers for his snorkeling, waivers for his medical treatment, and back-up waivers just in case the first set didn’t cover something like a dolphin randomly jumping into his speedboat, knocking him from his seat and against the cup holder, giving him a concussion and a permanent beer-can-shaped ring on his forehead. 

As if I weren’t nervous enough sending my 12 year old off on a trip 11 hours away, with people I barely know….let’s throw in some legal waivers which detail every possible scenario H-T might encounter during his first adventure away from home!! Here is an actual paragraph from one of the waivers they sent me today:

“Hypoxia, hypothermia and drowning are also a danger when diving.  Hyperbaric injuries require treatment in a recompression chamber. Diving trips for fun, training and/or certification may be conducted at locations remote from a recompression chamber facility. It could take long time to reach a chamber facility, and I still choose to proceed with my diving activities.”

I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure that, as I mom, I have cause to panic if I don’t even understand the injury OR the treatment my darling son is subject to.  And checking the box in front of this statement just makes me feel neglectful.  It’s like they want you to chicken out, and refuse to put your child through the unspeakable torture of that LONG drive to the recompression chamber thingy. 

I’ve had a hundred second thoughts as I’ve read through these legal papers this week.  I can’t believe I was dumb enough to ever agree to this.  H-T is scheduled to leave on Thursday, and I would almost rather brave his disappointment than risk getting him “recompressed.”  I keep getting visual images of them poking holes in him like a balloon and rolling him up from the bottom to make sure they get all the air out.

I’m gonna need lots of good thoughts and prayers this week, friends, if I’m going to push through my fears and actually go through with this exercise in parental torment.   I’m thinking of having them sign a waiver that says if I have to sign one more waiver, they are going to have to monetarily compensate me for all anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications I consume during the full time period of the trip. 

They may make very little profit on this excursion.

So you may or may not have heard of Hulu, but if you haven’t, please feel free to come over and have H-T give you a masters course.  Hulu takes the available online television and movie content and puts in all in one easy-to-veg-out-for-eternity location.  And H-T is pretty certain it was created with him in mind.  Besides having lots of Simpsons episodes (his current guilty pleasure), Hulu has let him discover “quality” programming he never even knew existed.  Where else could he have found old episodes of the A-Team, The Incredible Hulk, and Battlestar Galactica, and chanced upon classic movies like Planet of the Apes and The People That Time Forgot - - all in one place??  They can’t call you a couch potato if you are actually in a computer chair, can they?  So what is the new term for people glued to their internet on-demand programming??  Streaming Video Slugs??

H-T has lost all interest in our satellite television programming.  I mean who has the patience to wait for a show until some big-wig at a television studio in Anaheim decides to air it according to his whim?  Not H-T.  He wants customized programming on his schedule.  In other words, what he wants, when he wants it.  (I blame all those Beverly Hills 90210 reruns I watched while I was pregnant with him, and on bed rest.  I knew those narcissistic snots where no good for such impressionable fetal ears!)

When I was his age I had this little 13″ black and white set in my room, and I actually had to get up from the bed and turn a knob each time I wanted to change channels.  And at that time, we only got 3 - - plus PBS if I stretched the rabbit ears all the way out and wrapped aluminum foil on both ends (But who wants to go to all that trouble for another Benny Hill episode??!!)  H-T gets visibly shaken when I describe the barbaric scenarios of TV watching in the Pre-Cambrian era of my youth.

I’ve tried to explain to H-T that there are a few downsides of this new era of entertainment on demand. He will never ever know the sense of accomplishment that comes from peeing, pouring yourself a Dr. Pepper, feeding the cat, and finishing off a crossword puzzle all before the end of a commercial break.  He will miss out on that giddy butterfly feeling that comes over your stomach when you know that thisis the night you will finally find out whether Luke accepted Lorelai’s proposal.

Yep, H-T and his generation will never know some of the joys of doing TV “old style.”  What if everyone could have known who shot J.R. just by heading to the computer and clicking a mouse?  Would it have had the same “oomph?”  I just don’t think so. But what do I know….I’m just a couch potato.

Ok, so an important update on our free plane ticket conundrum……we’re goin’ to Vegas!!  Well, I should clear that up.  Two of us are going to Vegas.  The more we discussed our possible family vacation, the more Uber began to ponder the unfairness of little brother’s upcoming swimming with the manatees trip.  I mean, he has no interest in swimming with manatees (unless they happen to have swallowed a wi-fi transmitter), but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve his own vacation, he asserts.  And, easily guilt-ridden parents that we are, his reasoning began to sound pretty darn sensible. 

So where would a newly-14-year-old computer geek wanna go with his parent?  I suggested several options…how about Yosemite?  I figured he and his dad could have a male bonding experience among nature at its finest.  Uber tried to look enthusiastic, but I could see his techie little heart quivering at the thought of being so wholly disconnected from all things electronic.  Other options came up, such as visiting Seattle (who knew Microsoft hasn’t created a theme park yet - - Bummer!).  We tossed around the idea of heading to a video game convention, but unfortunately they are all located in places like Nowheresville, Indiana this year.  Double bummer.  So we looked through our trusty 10-year-old family travel guide, and came to the page about Las Vegas.  I could almost swear I saw double cherries come up in both eyes as Uber read the descriptions of the lights, sounds, and non-stop technotronics of the Vegas Strip.   

“What do they mean ‘The Fun Never Stops’?”  You mean you get to stay up all night and gamble and watch live shows??!!”  Well—yes–technically.  “Oh, Dad, isn’t this gonna be cool??!!”  I saw my very intelligent husband looking to me for guidance.  Was I actually going to let him take my 14-year-old impressionable homeschooled son to Sin City for a man’s dream-vacation-come-true?  Not for all the chest hair on Wayne Newton. 

So, Uber and I are taking our first ever trip to Vegas sometime this fall.  It will be a blast, I’m sure, although perhaps not quite as scintillating as the trip he pictured with his dad.  After all, my idea of gambling is sinking $5.00 at the VFW on Bingo Ladies Night. But, I have ordered the kids guide to Vegas, and have been checking out family friendly Vegas spots on the web.  There is actually a video game mega-arcade in Vegas that was designed by Steven Spielberg and the Dreamworks folks.  I’m hoping we are able to hit this high-spot toward the end of our vacation, or else we might not ever see a single other neon inch of the city.   

I will drag Uber to a show or two, of course, because I am girlie like that, but I will try to make it up to him by ensuring that at least one of them features either scantily clad gals or dancing Wii remotes.  Whoa–wouldn’t I be mom of the year if I could find a scantily clad gal dancing with a Wii remote??!! And if the saying is true that “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”, then we might even sneak in a tug on a slot machine handle.  But I guarantee that this will be a trip to remember.  I mean how many guys get to look back and remember their incredible teenage Las Vegas trip with their mothers??  Well, I mean those guys that aren’t currently in therapy, of course. 

p.s.  Anybody have any Vegas tips for us newbies??  Please share them below!!

Ok, so nobody likes sand in their keyboard, right?  So I made sure my laptop had lots of power, kissed it goodbye, and gently tucked it in for a long nap.  Then I was off to the beach.  Yes, there was some separation anxiety on the part of my little guy, who had never been without me for so long before, but I assured him that I would be back before his battery even got cold. 

And then I made the mistake of looking back.  The parenting books tell you to never look back.  But I did.  I was almost out the door. The minivan was packed.  The cooler was full.  The boys were waiting impatiently for me to get in the vehicle so we could head out, and right at that moment….I looked back.  My little laptop, sitting forlornly inside that deep dark carrying case.  It was all I could do not to well up with tears. 

So I ran back in and grabbed him up in my arms, and carried him lovingly to the van.  I totally ignored the eye rolling and sighing from the other passengers in the van, and found a comfortable shady nook for my laptop to ride out the trip in air conditioned comfort.

When we arrived at the shore, I patted his case and let him know how proud I was that he had been such a good little  traveler.  While everyone else had needed to make a series of pit-stops for food, stretching, or bathroom breaks, my stalwart fella had never made a peep of complaint from his cramped quarters.  I couldn’t wait to introduce him to the sun and fun of the coast in May, but it was late, and we were all tired, so I knew he wouldn’t mind if we all got a good night’s sleep before the merriment began.

The next day R-T and I awoke to the most incredible sight I have ever seen.  From our bed, we could look out and see the sun just coming over the water.  I wanted to stop time and just savor the beauty, but I knew I couldn’t, so I got out my trusty Canon and captured the moment. Before long, the boys and my mom, who had shared the next room, were up and salivating at the chance to get down and dirty with those lapping waves.  So, hours later, we emerged from the foam and sand, and enjoyed a terrific lunch, then it was back to the beach!  We took a short break from the sounds of seagulls and the smell of salt water to take a dip in the indoor pool,  where the water was like a warm blanket for the soul.  After gobbling down some Mexican food for supper, the boys took a much needed rest, and R-T and I took a beautiful leisurely stroll around the resort and through the gift shops. 

 

 

  The next day was much the same, although after lunch we headed away from the shoreline to Georgetown, one of the  oldest cities in the country, and soaked up some incredible history and ambiance.  The view from the marina was spectacular, and nothing will compare to traipsing through a local Episcopal cemetery to view gravestones dating back to the early 1800’s.  Priceless!  We celebrated Uber’s birthday with a trip to Gamestop, a huge seafood feast, and ice cream cake back at the hotel suite.  He said it was the best birthday he could ever remember.  And, since we were heading back home in the morning, it was time for one more trip to the beach for a long leisurely goodbye.

Sunday morning was spent packing all our belongings back in the van.  And that was when I spotted him.  My poor lonely laptop.  In all the excitement of vacation, I had forgotten all about him.  What kind of person could just unplug themselves like that, and completely neglect their online relationship??  I never thought of myself as the sort of person who would commit such technological negligence?  I didn’t even know I had it in me.  But as I packed the little guy safely back into the minivan, he had a look of forgiveness about it.  Like perhaps he was no worse for the wear.  Who knows?  Maybe we needed to give each other a little space.  A little independence.  And nobody likes sand in their keyboard, right? 

Thank God I got rid of her for a few days !!

 

Last summer our church held a raffle for two free airline tickets to anywhere in the continental United States.  R-T, unbeknownst to myself, purchased a couple of them, in hopes, perhaps, of heading off into the sunset with a non-techie beauty whose porcelain complexion had never been tainted by the glare of a computer screen.  Then off we went on vacation to Chicago, where dearest R-T took a bad fall at a waterpark, and completely tore the tendons in his knee, requiring complete knee reconstruction surgery.  So imagine the irony at receiving a call, on the last day of our vacation from Hades, informing us that we were the lucky winners of those coveted tickets!

Needless to say, R-T had a difficult time getting excited about our windfall.  It is very difficult to convince a man who is enduring weekly torture at the hands of physical therapists that he ought to take yet another plunge into the big, wide, scary world beyond our hometown.  Every news story seemed specifically designed to bolster his determination that vacations are only for the mentally disturbed or suicidal.  Every week brought another report of a child who had lost a limb at an amusement park, a woman who had mauled at a zoo, or a surfer who became shark-bait.  My prospects for a second honeymoon with my honey were looking pretty slim indeed.

But finally, after many months, R-T had healed enough to entertain the thought of venturing further than Home Depot.  I started to get excited as visions of long romantic walks on the beach or moonlit helicopter tours over the city danced in my head.  And then I made the fatal mistake of sharing my hopes with my hubby.  Was I kidding??!!  Leave our boys as orphans when our plane went down in the middle of the desert??!!  Apparently, certain people’s travel phobias had taken on new life, and we were not only going to be maimed, but killed, just because we dared to confront the vacation gods. 

So what about our free tickets, I gently inquired.  R-T thought long and hard about this, and decided we should use the two free tickets, and then buy two more for the boys.  Evidently, hubby’s neurosis had advanced to the point where he felt hunky-dory with the idea of us ALL going down in flames, just so long as we didn’t meet our fates separately. I decided to ignore the obvious flaws in his logic, and just be grateful that there was a family vacation some time in our immediate future.

You would think that our problems were over at this point, wouldn’t you?  I mean, what could go wrong with two free plane tickets to anywhere in the lower 48, and the anticipation of seeing sites and places you had always hoped to see?  I’ll tell you what can go wrong.  How about a boatload of indecision?  We are winding down to the point where we have to make some decisions about what we are going to do with the tickets.  But, four different people going on vacation means four different opinions on where they should go.  And from time to time, the discussions have been a bit - - shall we say - - lively.  I’m for anywhere with sun and sand.  R-T is a geology buff, and longs for the badlands of the great west.  H-T is currently studying Langston Hughes, and is heart set on heading to somewhere “where people take jazz music seriously.”  Uber is as fickle as a twelve year old girl dropped off at an all-boys’ school - - how about Baltimore, or Los Angeles would be cool, but New York City might be awesome, oh–I know–Seattle!  We have two free plane tickets and not a concordant idea among us. 

Who would have thought it would be such a pain to win two free plane tickets??!! 

When I was about eight years old, my dad took me to a car show at the local civic center.  The venue was full of shiny boxy 70’s versions of Plymouths, Fords, and Toyotas.  But the central focus of the show was on this incredible little futuristic concept car that looked like it had fallen directly down from Battlestar Galactica.  I was mesmerized.  My dad explained that this was an all-electric car, and that by the time I was driving, the roads would be full of these little environmentally and pocketbook friendly babies. The oil and gas crisis earlier in the decade had brought environmentalism to the forefront, and my dad naturally assumed that the general public would be clamoring for an alternative to their current gas guzzlers. So eight years later, license in hand, I looked around the highways and saw…the same old pollution-spewing, wallet-chomping vehicles. 

Where were all those little electrical beauties that my dad assured me would be there waiting for me?  Well, I’m still waiting.  I have had a fascination with electric cars since those early years, and I have been patiently impatiently waiting for the day when they are ready for the mainstream.  The past year has put my patience to the test.  As an economically-challenged homeschooling family, the current gas hike has made quite an impact on our budget.  My laptop took it’s last agonizing breath months ago, and I have been leeching from the generosity of Timeworn-Techie who has graciously lied about “not needing” her laptop right now.  Our vacation plans have gone from a weeklong family trip to Vegas we had been planning, to a long weekend at the beach.  Now granted these are not huge sacrifices, but they are enough to make me long for the day when I do not have to weep aloud at the gas pump.

And then along comes…the Th!nk - - the little car so reminiscent of my childhood futuristic fantasy.   They are coming to America sometime next year, and it couldn’t be soon enough for me.  I am intoxicated by the thought of owning one of these cuties.  So intoxicated, in fact, that I am barraging their North American company with offers to be one of the first test drivers of their zero emission, safety-conscious product.  I mean, why not me?  I live in the city (their target market), I am forward thinking, I am upwardly mobile, I am always ready to try something new.  And best of all, I am skint.  I simply can’t think of another person more suited to try out a Th!nk-mobile.  Ok, so maybe the fact that my family is made up of a 6′ 2″ man and two boys who are quickly gaining on him might put a slight damper on my prospects for this mini-mobile, but if I can convince the people at Th!nk that we have a background in circus clowning, and fitting large groups into small automobiles, I think we may stay in the running. 

So keep your fingers crossed for me, folks.  Cause staying on my good side might just mean I’ll take you for a spin in my snazzy little money-saver (as long as you have no prior history of claustrophobia, that is). 

I love being techie, I swear I do, but sometimes…..

Can somebody tell me why we need all these chargers??  Just for the sake of you, my loyal readers, I went through my house and counted the number of chargers we have for our various gadgets and gizmos.  Would you believe we have 17 different chargers for a family of four???!!!  Please explain why in a civilization that can cram 120 MB of pictures on an SD card the size of a postage stamp, and can make a pompous, muscle-shirt-sporting Brit the go-to guy for American music critique, we can’t come up with a way to charge our devices without all these different attachments! 

Tonight, R-T needed to use the digital camcorder for a class project, and guess what was missing?  Now, I fairly easily located the other 16 chargers in our house, even without a divining rod, but that elusive 17th - - not anywhere to be found.  I checked every outlet, every drawer, every sneaky place a charger might try to hide.  (It being Earth Day yesterday and all, I thought maybe it was just doing its part)  But nothing. 

So it occurred to me that of the 16 remaining chargers, at least one of them would have to be compatible with the poor, charger-less camcorder.  Can you say “CONSPIRACY”??  Yes, my friends.  We have been hornswaggled by the electronic mafia.  Every gadget charger in the world has been deviously designed to be 1/100th of a millimeter different than every other charger.  I know this because I tried every one of them.  I tried so many male-to-female and female-to-male connections that I almost got a bit turned on.  But not one of them would work in the camcorder. And when I tried to force a couple that were pretty close, they made some sparking sounds that I’m pretty sure weren’t because of a romantic chemistry between them.

Does that mean that the conspirators win, then?  If my charger is missing, then I can’t use my camcorder.  So either I have to order another charger from the company, or buy a completely new device, right?  What other evidence do we need that we have become a totalitarian marketplace?  The gadget gurus have made us dependent upon their contrivances so that we can’t even remember our dentist appointments or find our chiropractor’s phone numbers without them.  And once this dependency is established, they laugh at our naive willingness to buy their stupid chargers to keep them running.  And then they laugh harder when we misplace said chargers.  Fascists.

I’ve decided to have my boys spend the rest of this homeschool year researching how chargers work.  We are going to study, experiment, and test every possible theory until we have figured out how to create a universal charger.  One single device that will accept every electronic connection.  The plugged-in world as we know it, will be a thing of the past.   If you don’t hear from us, you will know that our plans have become uncovered, and that we have become a casualty of the Charger Conspiracy.  In the event that we do meet our demise at the bottom of Lake Michigan with a mainframe strapped to our ankles, I hereby will all of my electronic devices and their respective chargers to my  dear friends and family.  My camcorder, I will to my Aunt Fran, who never forgets to point out that I’ve put on a few extra pounds since she saw me last.  God bless us, every one.   

You’ve probably all seen it…the little girl playing in her yard in pink sweatpants with the “Juicy” symbol stamped across her barely eight-year-old hiney.  The boy skateboarding down the sidewalk with his pack of cigarettes in one hand, and his action figure in the other.  Girls who haven’t even met Aunt Flo yet, giggling together about which American Idol fella they’d most like to see in his birthday suit.   Kidicide.  The rampant death and destruction of childhood, so that we can market adult products, music, and entertainment to younger and younger consumers. 

Yep, that’s right kids. It’s time for the first ever Topsy-Techie soapbox post. Goodness knows it doesn’t often happen that I have something of actual substance to share, so sit up in your chair, and push up your bifocals!  Meaningful content may only cross my path about as often as Halley’s comet, so please - - take notes.  I may need them later if I ever have to prove in court that I was of a “sound mind” at some point in my life.

As a youth director for my church, I have become more aware of the differences in how children and teens are maturing, compared with my generation twenty-odd years ago.  The clothing they wear, the music they listen to, the movies they watch, and the video games they buy never cease to amaze me with their adult content.  In my era, it was uncool not to own Nike tennis shoes or Izod shirts.  Today’s youth can commit social suicide by not owning M-rated games, or not knowing the ins and outs of Kama Sutra.  Seven year olds know curse words I was still figuring out in high school.  Even the dolls are different now.  I’m so afraid that next Christmas, our little niece will be desperate for S&M  Barbie, complete with whip and stirrups. 

This whole issue has been brought home to me this week.  Because of homeschooling, we have been so fortunate to ensure our boys a full childhood.  Without the constant peer pressure to mature quickly, they have been able to stop and smell the playdough a little longer than they normally would.  They have enjoyed “kid” movies, tv shows, and games for far more years than their friends have been able to.  They have belly laughed at jokes their peers would roll their eyes about. But I can see the tunnel at the end of the light, I’m afraid. 

Their blissful ignorance of all things “mature” is starting to fade.  H-T, our perpetual child, went out to play yesterday, plastic swords and imagination at the ready.  Pretend play has always been his lifeline to sanity.  When he sees a movie, he goes and acts it out.  When he reads a book, he immediately becomes the protagonist.  Even video games are not immune to his make believe antics.  But not five minutes after heading outside to play, H-T was back in the door.  After questioning him about his quick return, he explained that the neighbors were in their yard, and he didn’t want them to see him play.  “What do you mean?” I asked, “Why would they care?”  “Because they would think I’m too old to pretend,” he responded.

So THAT’S where I lost my childhood!!  I’ve been looking for it everywhere…under logs, behind bushes, in creeks and streams.  And all this time it was in the opinions of other people!!  The same people who tell my kids that they should let their pants droop down below their underwear, and put foreign objects through their nipples, and use language that would make Chris Rock cringe. These are the ones who get to decide when my son is too old to pretend??!! 

I tried to convince H-T that our neighbors (who raise chickens on our busy city street) probably wouldn’t even give him a second look if he were slaying dragons from the apple tree out back, but he was not buying.  He’s already been sullied by the masses.  A victim of the premature aging crisis.  Kidicide.  There may not be enough Spongebob Squarepants episodes in the world to return him to his former innocence.  Makes me wanna kick somebody.  Anybody know where I can find the idiot who decided to print “Juicy” on little girls backsides??

Ok, so Firefly Mom tagged her blog readers with the difficult task of finding 6 unimportant things about themselves and blogging about them.  I tried to explain to her that EVERYTHING about me is important, but for the sake of argument, I will try and comply with the rules of the game……

(1)  I rotate everything.  When I’m putting away clean clothes, towels, etc., they have to go underneath, behind, or below the clothes and towels already in the closet.  The clean dishes are put away behind the other dishes in the cabinets, and the neglected ones pulled to the front so they can be used first.  Even my silverware is rotated so that it all gets used an equal amount.  Some might call this a sign of OCD, and they would probably be right on the money.  See, I told you this stuff was important.

(2) My boobs are different sizes.  And keep in mind that neither one is a full B cup.  But one is pitifully even more microscopic than the other, and feels jealous most of the time.  I’ve tried to make it feel better by padding that side of my bra, but it backfired on me and now I think I may have given it a complex.  I’m checking into boob therapists, but the only ones I’ve found so far are 50 year old men who look like they might not be sincerely in it for the healing.

(3) I have eclectic tastes in music.  Tony Bennett is my all time fave.  Hands down.  Anything that man sings makes my heart go to goo.  But I’ve also bought or downloaded some seriously diverse tracks in my time.  My ipod, if I had one, would probably have some Rascal Flatts, U2, The Corrs, Alison Krauss, Nickel Creek before they broke up, Alicia Keys, a little John Mayer and a lotta 80’s pop rock.  I have a whole CD collection of Big Band music, too, and my favorite XM channel is Frank’s Place, which highlights the American Songbook.  No one will ever figure me out by looking at my Itunes playlist.  I dare you to try.

(4) I love containers.  Tupperware gives me goosebumps.  Carry-all bags get my heart racing.  You know those wonderfully useful plastic tubs that baby wipes come in?  I’ve got em by the hundreds, and you’d be surprised at how well they hold up after 10 years.  (Scary thought, huh, considering there are probably 8.5 trillion of them currently sitting in various landfills around the earth)

(5) I can’t tan.  I can trace my ancestry back to the Mayflower, and I am an official DAR, so what does that mean for me?  Yep.  A pasty complexion.  Those imperial genes of mine prove that I am Anglo-Saxon to the core, and therefore  will never, ever look good in a bikini.  Ok, so actually my B-minus cup size already secured that status, but even when I was nursing my 2 kiddos and sported a solid C, I would have never been caught dead in a thong at the beach for fear that the reflection of the sun and sand off my skin might have speeded up our current global warming crisis.  (and yes, before you ask me, those are my ACTUAL legs.  It might be wise to now make an appointment with your opthamologist, just to make sure there is no lasting damage)

(6) I type my blog using my toes.  Of course that’s a lie, but wouldn’t that be cool???  And it is so much more interesting than any of this other “unimportant” crud I’ve just shared with you. 

A big shout-out to Firefly Mom, who gave me the idea for this post.  And for those of you who are children of the eighties, like myself, you’ve gotta head over to her blog each Thursday and check out her Thursday Thirteen, which will definitely take you back in a big way.  And for those of you bloggers who haven’t yet been tagged with this one, consider yourself marked, and let us know when you post. TTFN, y’all.