The One In Which She Says "Happy Things-giving!"

Happy Things-giving everyone! What say you, Swirl Girl? Things-giving?

I know this is the time of year when we should all be thankful for our bountiful feast, health, family.....yada, yada, yada. But let's be real here. Aside from those things, today many of you are probably staking out the parking lot at YourLocalBigBox store to find the best parking spot and planning your strategy for conquering the masses so you can save big money on big ticket items like these frickin' things Zhu Zhu Pets (please, if you love me...don't) or the stupidest gift idea of 2009 (according to Dave Barry of the Miami Herald). Quite frankly, I cringe (read: enjoy and shudder because it is not now nor will it never be me!) watching the news roundups over the weekend seeing who got trampled , robbed, wig-ripped, beaten, and ripped off waiting for the doors to open at half past still-dark-thirty in the morning. My advice is to stay home and do your shopping from the comfort of your laptop. That's what I plan to do. Stay connected and unharmed.

If you have time between the basting and gorging - I wrote this little acrostic for my favorite holiday of all Things-Giving. The day when we celebrate all the Things in our lives.

Turkey is much better when enjoyed directly from the carcass (after cooking of course) and it is also a known fact that if you eat standing up - you don't gain weight. I like to pick,pick,pick the bits of crispy skin and turkey meat off the bone before the platter hits the table. Hubby and I fight over who gets the crispiest skin off the 'tushie' of the turkey (note to self: just realized it doesn't do much for me in the class and elegance department when I just told a gazillion all 16.5 of you people that my Hubby and I fight over who gets more ass). I also look daintier because I don't fill my plate as much.

Having leftovers is as much fun as having 18 people for the meal. And Friday afternoon SavvySassy mom and her family are coming over to enjoy turkey soup, turkey sandwiches, turkey hash, turkey pie, turkey ice cream (okay, just checking to see if you're still paying attention)!

I learned that I could never have been a Squaw. Schlepping babies in papooses and all that getting in and out of the tee-pee wreaks havoc on my knees. (see picture above- which was snapped right before I let out a gigantic 'Oy-Vey' and had to use two 5 year olds to pull me off the floor once again illustrating why I should not wear skinny jeans, no matter how perfect the GAP says they are. They are 'standing up pants', ladies -much in the same way we all have 'sitting down shoes' and 'out shirts'...who's with me on this?)

New phone arriving any minute. I am getting the new Droid from Motorola. It's my first smart-phone. I barely use my cell phone now because it doesn't do anything but barely ring. I'm going big time social media.

'Go My Son is a song the Kindergarteners performed this morning...sure to clear your sinus cavities and schmear your make-up. (see video below- just in case you were wondering, she's the blond-double-braided- cutey-patootie-native-American in the middle row almost center)

Stupidest name for a phone ever. Droid. Dear Motorola - if you want women to buy it...find a new name for it. (note to self: just realized that I sort of just called myself 'not a woman' by insinuating that women won't buy the Droid which I previously just told you I did. The sheer fact that I made that very run-on sentence in this very run-on post would prove that I am indeed 'very' woman)

Girls rock. 'Nuf said. Thanks for giving me them.

I am so incredibly proud of my Emily Rose who submitted a short poem in the National PTA Reflections program. She received a Certificate of Commendation (only the 10 best submissions per category receive this in our District) for her efforts and while she does not move up the ladder to the next level of judging - she congratulated the girl who did . The theme of this year's program that celebrates the woefully under- funded Arts in our public schools was Beauty Is....and my daughter is surely beautiful!

Volunteering is supposed to make you feel validated that you are contributing to your community. If that is the case, why don't I feel that way? I am wiped out without benefits.

I still miss my wonderful dad (R.I.P. Poppy) who's favorite holiday ever was Thanksgiving. I'll bawl my eyes out when I dig into that pecan pie (his favorite). I wish he were here for my kids. (mostly for me). So much has happened in the nearly two years since you passed away. Some of it crappy - but so much of it was wonderful. I think of you daily, Daddy.

Nothing beats waking up Thursday morning with the smells of Thanksgiving wafting under your bedroom door. The best part? Tuning in to the Macy's parade and getting back into your bed for a while.

Give a little something to someone else this season. Sign up at SpiritJump.org to be a jumper and lift the spirits of someone battling cancer.

The One with (Massage) Envy , Lust and Gluttony, ...and the rest 'Here on Gilligan's Isle"

Forgive me ...for I have sinned. And it took me almost two weeks to committ the deadly seven.

The other day, my sisterbestfriend was in town and we went for a massage (Envy). I know it sounds decadent , but I've had a gift certificate for this for almost a year(Sloth) and haven't used it. So the guy that was 'doing' me had these beefy arms and a very firm grip. What I discovered is that I really don't like massages. I don't like people. Touching me. (purposeful puntuation) Anyway - I get all 'undressed to "my level of comfort" which to me means 'nekkid with undies, and lay down on the table under the warm blanket. Put my face in the hole and wait for him to start. I suddenly become acutely aware of the sound his arms and hands make on the cotton sheet. Then I start thinking about the mind-numbingly annoying meditative music playing in the room (when was the last time you enjoyed a good zither and the lute medley for a frickin' hour??) I can't relax. He's kneading me ...hard with his warm lotioned hands and I am abashedly a bit turned on by that (Lust) All the while I hear his arms 'swishing' on the sheets and it starts to sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. Then I start thinking about what is going on in his mind. And how many clients he kneads a day. Eww. Next to a Brazilian waxer - I think to myself how gross it must be a massage therapist. Touching people's privates and hairy, dry skin (not my own of course, okay- maybe the dry skin and hairy legs part ) - I can't wait for this to be over. Whew! The hour is up and I get to leave! I come home and hours later my back and neck are killing me and bruised. Note to self: give balance of gift card to Hubby and remind him he's lucky that I am so low maintanance and if he really knew me - he would know that I frickin' hate massages and why did he give me that gift in the first place? thank him for the thoughtful expression.

Wrath: This one is easy. I do it every day. Just ask my kids. I actually yelled at my daughter for needing to do a homework project with pictures she needed off the internet while I was Tweeting and Facebooking and Emailing and checking out new smartphones (Avarice) and Jeez! Interrupting my 'me time'. Jeez!

Today marks the end of the trimester grading period at school. My kids are terrific students . I was talking to my Aunt the other day telling her what great kids my girls are and she said something to the effect of "not like their mother" and I was all "whu? I was a great student and a goody two shoes ...don't you remember?" getting all harumphy on her. "You are obviously confusing me with sisterbestfriend" (Pride). I was actually pissed that my 79 year old Aunt forgot that I graduated High School in my junior year and am a college graduate. Which reminds me of a great line from "30 Rock" that Hubby and I are probably the only people who actually watch and laugh our assess off. Anyway, one of the characters on the show said (when given an option of something that wasn't helpful) said "That is about as useless as a Mom's college degree" which got me all pissy because there is some truth to that. (Wrath again)

The Gluttony can wait until next week ...Thanksgiving menu is planned. 17 coming over. I am looking forward to the leftovers as much as the dinner. And the four bottles of Pinot Noir I am going to enjoy while preparing my most favorite meal of the year.


So tell me, what does a Jewish someone do who has confessed their sins to their bloggy friends? Drink Say 4 Bloody Hail Mary's and call you in the morning?? Is Guilt a mortal sin? And if not - why? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Oh- and I am now on Twitter. Follow me @Swirlgirlspearl . (leave the 's' off for savings)
( I seriously need a Twit-torial ...something for the dim-Twit-witted. Is there a book called Tweeting for Dummies? If not, great idea for a book, right?)

The One in Which She Finally Gets Hello Kitty

Two little girls sitting on a wall.
There to catch each other should the other one fall.

New friends are hard to make


when both of them are sweet and pretty...


But they found a common ground...
they both love Hello Kitty!


Thanks to Andrea of Savvy Sassy Moms for the use of her daughter in this
Wordful Wednesday post (sponsored by Angie of Seven Clown Circus! )









Have a great day!

And Now For Something Completely Different

Today I am guest posting at Mom's Without Blogs...and it's not the usual sunshine and unicorn stuff I usually write about.



Here's a preview : (turn up your sound, don't skip this video...it's the shizzle)



Pretty heady shit, huh? We I need to recognize that while our kids are just kids...they hear every thing we say and do - and it does affect them.

Go over to Mom's Without Blogs and get the rest of the story....then next time I post, I promise it'll be all rainbows and lollipop lovey-dovey rubby bum-bum you're used to seeing from me. {snark, snark}

The One With the Obligatory Post- Halloween Post**

I Vant To Suck Your Blood

True to form - my girls did it up. I know this because contrary to all I've griped about this past week ...we hauled in some major booty. And, after the sneaking the best bites for myself

careful sorting - ever on patrol for the errant razor blade or open wrapper-I'm hauling around some extra booty in my booty. If anyone has found a Charleston Chew...which they won't 'cuz they don't seem to make them anymore...you can send it right over here.

And as for the band of marauding teens who smashed pumpkins and stole the entire "help yourself" bowl of candy? You just wait kids...pay back is a bitch. You too, someday, will have brats not unlike yourselves. Can't wait for that.

And as for the houses in the 'hood that dole out candy for the little ones and adult beverages for the parents! Kudo's to YOU!!!! (even though I had my own little party in the wagon)

Our school is collecting extra candy for Manna Food Bank. I brought in a Lawn and Leaf bag full of it this morning. I am not all heartless, you know.

What are you doing with yours?? Besides the obvious, that is.

***********

In other news, Emily and I went shopping yesterday for intimate apparell. For. Her. Oy vey.

Rachel asked me if I was getting 'real bubble holders' like the kind I wear or little cami's like Emily usually wears. She just about busted a seam cracking up when I told her we were getting the real deal. I promised Ray Ray, when her day comes - we'll go shopping just the two of us, too. It was a good time for Emily to have our bonding moment. And our monthly "Women's Business Time" chat.

Hormones suck. Hers. Mine. and Ours.

**edited a few hours later . Alternative title to this post is The One in Which She Knows She's Old Because Her Favorite Candy is Considered Retro. So I added a link to Wikipedia for all you youngin's to see what you've been missing.

***edited a few hours after that....I just had a flash, and not a hot one this time! Well maybe it started out as a hot flash, but something brought me here: to a memory flash of maybe just why I dislike Halloween and all things pumpkin.

{{cue wiggly wavey flashback thingies}}

4th grade...World Festival. We all had to choose a country and write up a report about it, convert our desks into a 'market' stall and display wares from that country. We also had to create a popular food or export to serve to the class and all the classes that paraded through our little United Nations of countries. I was absent for some reason on the day we chose countries. I got Venezuela, the country that nobody wanted. Sure it had Angel Falls - the world's tallest waterfall - and Simon Bolivar but other than drawing a picture of it, that was all I could find. And back in those days, we relied on our trusty Encyclopedia Britannica to get our informaiton. No Google searching. No FoodNetwork.com. No information superhighway. No instant gratification. Just me and the last volume of the encyclopedia and maybe, if I was lucky - our elementary school library had something on microfilm about Venezuela.

So picture the double classroom of desks that were turned into a wending maze of nations and little old me down at the end stuck next to Zaire and the eraser cleaning machine. By the time people got to Venezuela, they had already been treated to crepes, and salsas, and french fries, and sweet treats from around the globe. Hell, they even liked the borcht from Russia and the lutafisk from Sweden. And right before my lame desk of all things Venezuela - the students and faculty got to sample apple pie from the good ol' US of A. And they get to me...and I have this huge pot on my desk under a rather lame albeit colorful depiction of the export map of Venezuela . A huge somewhat chunky pot of ...pumpkin soup. If I started the day with a crock pot full of this junk, I ended with day with a crock pot minus about a teaspoon of this junk. Then, at the end of the day, I slunk down in my seat and managed to pull that big crock pot of this junk off my desk and onto....my lap. Ick. Just ick. Orange ick.

{{ end scene}}

that explains it. stained for life.