Once More with Feeling.

Or what I like to call "halfway to 70"

Oh yeah....it's that time of year again.

Also whose birthday? Contrary! And guess what? She calls her man "Pookie" Yeah, I call Mike Pookiebear - initially to be ironic - to get a rise out of him, but then, the stupid name stuck.  Can you believe that shit?  Anyway, is it weird we have the same birthday AND same nickname for our spouses?  Discuss.

In 50 words or less, how has the writers' strike effected you?

"Friday night I watched The Ghost Whisperer (not the worst, but still...) and last night I On-Demanded I Know Who Killed Me* )."

It's gonna take some time to bounce back from that last one.  Ho-oh-ly shit.

(*nominated for 9 Razzies this year)

Watching all those Sex and the City marathons has served me well.

While passing each other in the bedroom, Mike and I hear the promo for the next episode of Rock of Love II.

Promo, featuring a suprise appearance from Season One's The Clap-on-wheels, Lacey, who is skating around at a roller derby asking this season's crew, "What's up, skanks!?"

Narrator: " ...in the next episode, the girls fall hard for Brett..."

Mike: [incredulously] "Seriously, how is it possible to fall hard for Brett?"

Me: [in my mind agreeing with him, but then...oh...heh.] Yells from that bathroom: "See, because they're doing ROLLER DERBY and they are gonna "FALL HARD".  GEDDIT?!"

See, this is why I feel comfortable asserting that  I am "the smart one".

Oh, well that's just PER-fect.

A Perfect List, inspired from my friend, Tiff:

* The perfect outfit: the jeans that make me look hot, fitted top, healed boots.

* The perfect meal: Anything from Texas Roadhouse.

* The perfect hangover cure: (depending on severity) Barfing then waking up at noon.

* The perfect road trip: Driving  around the coast (Maine, Newport etc).

* The perfect facial feature: dimples.

* The perfect drink: Smartwater (this does not make me boring! I swear this shit is good!) recent discovery: Gatorade A.M. in orange-strawberry. 

* The perfect song: Not enough info. All time? God Only Knows by the Beach Boys.
On the radio now? Sarah Bareilles's “Love Song”.

* The perfect sign of affection: Coming back from the grocery store with a surprise for me.

* The perfect afternoon: laying in a hammock, stack of trash mags, and then passing out with a mag on my face for an afternoon siesta.

* The perfect vacation: mutli-country Europe trip (which I am doing in May! Huzzah!)

* The perfect invention: digital camera.

* The perfect type of wedding: small, casual, ending with people dancing like loons to my iPod.

* The perfect album: Not enough info. Will throw out The Police’s Synchronicity for the sake on an answer.

* The perfect accent: Irish brogue.

* The perfect date: Comedy show, followed by drinks somewhere where we recap or replay out the best parts of the show.

* The perfect weather: mid-70s, partly cloudy, Boston in May/early June.

* The perfect party: one where my hair came out awesome (why this matters, I can’t really say) 10ish friends, Dance Dance Revolution in the house.

* The perfect sport: soccer.

* The perfect thing to say: "You're lovely."  Honorable mention: “Those jeans new? Your ass looks really good in them.”

* The perfect day of the week: Saturday

Babies Dig Me

Here is Jonas McLovinpants at his first "photoshoot" with Aunt Jennie.

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Yeah, I really hate it when the newbies get all diva on me. 

Already with the 'WTF' look, Jonas? Dude, you're like, zero. What could possibly have you this creased, this vexed now?

The Rules - My sister's house, updated 1/13/08

These may or may not be directed to a certain 5 year old girl.

(ahem... )

1. No Irish step dancing in the shower.

2. No "bodyslamming" your little brother.

The last one was a result of said 5 year-old calling to her Ma who was just getting out of the shower "Mom, Mom, Owen's hurt, Owen's hurt."

[hears crying from playroom, walks and talks to playroom with the informer]

"I didn't mean to do it. We were having a pillow fight and I body slammed him and he got hurt. I told him I was sorry. .... I'm getting him some ice."

[walks into playroom to a stunned Owen]

{through tears} "Sawah bodyslammed me."

A Rookie Mistake

Late this afternoon, I decided to finally dust off the running shoes, find the sports bra, and head to the new gym I signed on with about 2 weeks ago.

And I don't know why I feel compelled to add this, but this is NOT a New Year's resolution.  It is just something that needs to be done and it's taken me 6 months to get back at it. (So not the point of this post. Just thought the timing of me saying I joined a new gym on January 4 looked suspect.)

Anyway, as I said,  at the new gym for the first time.  I started off on the bike, and I had my water and magazine.  All was well.  Once done with the bike, I decided to drop my magazine back into my bag in the locker room so I could freely move about to work on the weight machines. 

As I headed into the locker room, I still had the iPod volume fully cranked and I was zoning out listening to the music,  contemplating lots of little stupid shit.  As I made my way around, my eye line was downward seeking locker #180.  And I got to the spot where I would have it would be,  I got confused - the numbers were nowhere near 180, ....and, wait,  this is weird, the room's layout is not quite how I remembered ....

... I lifted my head to get my bearings and it is only at this moment that I realize....

I AM IN THE MEN'S LOCKER ROOM.

Somehow I was able to squash a squeal of shock (and yes, there were naked men. the nerve.) and booked it out of there.  And I can tell you, the walk of shame heading to of the MEN'S LOCKER ROOM as a woman is as awesome as it sounds.

Fortunately, 5:30 on a Saturday evening, the gym wasn't all that crowded.  I mean, had I done this on a weekday, can you imagine how many bare butts (which I saw) and hairy backs my delicate sensibilites would have been exposed to?  Thankfully tonight's episode no one noticed me (THANK YOU JESUS) and no Full Montys.

So to sum up:  My night - like Porky's, only in reverse.