2 Cool.

2. Wow.

Margie,

May every memory be as sweet as this.

Giddyup Class of '88

Tom is older than you all think. His 20 year high school reunion was o'er the weekend. We had fun, we aren't fuddy-duddies. There was keg beer and stories about keg beer parties. Class photos, slideshows & such. And keg beer. And more keg beer.

As the keg beer settles in Tom's tummy he decides to take himself to the dance floor. He rocked it, of course, as the blackest white boy you'll ever see. But during the lone [yuk] country song, "Save a horse, ride a cowboy" [always a crowd pleaser when Bud Light is involved] he decided to drop to the floor on all fours. Um, okay - he's being a horse. He's not that drunk, I assume.

Before I can turn around & walk away [too sober to ride bareback] I see someone take what Tom SO WRONGLY assumed was my place atop the cowboy/horse. And she proceeds to giddyup on my husband for at least 40 beats/measures/whatever. And then I see a half-dozen digital camera flashes go off. And then I go off.

Come to find out, once a high school tramp - always a tramp.

Congrats, class of '88. Helluva party.

The scenery is here. Wish you were beautiful.

I had to post a photo in a rush to update this dusty blog. This one makes me laugh. The kids in their sweet, cheezy, "someone who loves me went to the virgin islands and drank a lot of boat drinks and played a lot of shuffleboard and ate a lot of midnight buffets and all i got was this stupid Tshirt" Tshirts from "Aunt" Linda & "Uncle" Don. Margie's pose might be best left for a still shot in the 1920s. Ben looks like he's in a Kmart ad...

Retro Bloat

Sure. I planned to post something witty and cute about Margie's sassy "spoil your dinner!" cupcake & crossbones birthday party.

But that was before I woke up bloated. And bitter.

Why must a woman nearing [only nearing] her mid-30s be flogged by aunt flo so? I can't believe that the bloat of 1985 is still afloat in my midst. My middle ain't takin' kindly to things that button or zip. I'm finding myself weeping in the closet to Tom and Margie about water retention - and lack of exercize and healthy eating - that has led me to this point. Woe is me. Whoa is my waist.

WTF?

So, for the first time in over 20 years [have I not suffered this whole menstruation charade long enough?] I bit the bullet [no, not the ob kind - although I'm proud to say I bleed green - no applicator is good for the environment] and bought a bottle of Pamprin. It's still available at local pharmacies. Still a horsepill. And, lucky for me, still attempting to keep the bloat at bay.

This ain't the cheeriest post - but it's the hormone-iest.

'night.

Little girl lost

Nope. I'm not talking about Margie in the toy aisle at Target. I'm talking about my own self. I've been MIA [however, unfortunately, not mysteriously at all] for damn near a year. My bad. My bad ass. I've been busy keeping up with life and all its little details. In the meantime, Ben's a year older, Margie too - myself and Tom [he hits the 20yr high school year reunion mark this weekend] and I find myself vowing to find myself starting today.

I'll be back to post my days away - what can I say?!