Meryl Streep has B.O. Clout

This is a first peek at the new film JULIE & JULIA with Meryl Streep playing Julia Child.
OMG! I am so looking forward to this film starring four of my most favorite actors:
Meryl Streep, Amy Adams, Jane Lynch & Stanley Tucci. Since working in films starting in 1979, she has been a steady, consistent, & amazing actress whose films got nominated for awards but didn't make a lot of money. Now she's a box office star. Starting with The Devil Wears Prada & cemented with Mamma Mia!, Streep (weeks away from her 60th birthday) is now the summer box office champ & is considered to be one of the few actors who can "open" a movie. Instead of competing with Susan Sarandon or Annette Bening to play the latest eccentric mom, Streep is going head to head with Angelina Jolie & Julia Roberts for the title of Most Bankable Actress On Earth. She's bigger than she's ever been. There is a poetic justice to the fact that Streep's career has a eclipsed her male contemporaries: Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, Dustin Hoffman, & even Jack Nicholson for box office clout. Can't wait!

As God Is My Witness... I Will Defend The Mighty Swoon!

For those seasoned veterans of the Six-Pack, you will know who I am talking about when I say the words "Stupid Fat Hobbit."

My friend Patrick.

He is like Cousin Steve... a pain in my ass. Which by the way, Cousin Steve is feeling soooo much better-something about a med that finally worked for the big lump on top of his head. He is about 75% back to being his normal hilarious self-although last night when I called him and said "My smoke detector is beeping at me making the dog freak out and poop in the baby's room!" he said "Yeah, well I can't get my remote to work and now I have to have my wife change the channels on the TV-you think YOU got problems?"

Anyway...

For those of you who are "new" to the Six-Pack, you may not know Patrick for the simple fact that he is a lazy blogger. He never updates his blog and he seems to think there are more important things out there (like moving across the country, working, blah blah blah) than blogging.

I met Patrick when we lived in Virginia and our spouses worked together... or if you want to get technical, when his wife (Pokey) was my husband's (Ward) boss. Patrick and I met at a Christmas party where I squeezed my size 10 post baby body into a size 8 dress and he took a picture for proof and then posted it on his blog.

I know! It was horrible.

Now that I am a size 4-6 do you see any pics of me floating around his blog? Nope. Sheesh.

Anyway...

Patrick has the right combination of weirdo and smartassidry (to use one of our mascot FlyNavy's made up words) to be one of my friends. He cracks me up and the mere fact that he is a good Cat-lic boy makes him endearing.

But...

It has come to my attention that he is evil and must be destroyed.

So I must destroy him.

It was good knowing you Patrick.

I hope you don't have to spend much time in Purgatory for what you did... but if I were God.... you would be there long after I have left and entered the Pearly Gates of Heaven and you and I both know that I am going to set up shop in Purgatory-we both know that I am going to be there for so long that they may even change the name to Juneatory.

So go on over and see what Stupid Fat Hobbit did on his blog.

Go see what he thought he could get away with.

Go see the way he is showing complete and utter disrespect to the Monday Swoon-the Tuesday Tease-the Wednesday Woah-the Thursday Thicket-the Friday Fancy, the Saturday Sexy and the Sunday... wait, I don't post on Sunday.

Hmm... those are all really good names aren't they? If life ever gets too busy and I can't think of words to fill this blog-I'll just use those ideas right up there. I am so brilliant.

While you are over at Hobbit's place, tell him what a cruel person he is. He loves that kind of shit.

And then spit on the sidewalk and turn around three times, flip off your bathroom scale and say it loud and proud... "Patrick! We just F^%#ed you up!"

Defend the Swoon ladies... defend the swoon.

.

How to deal.

WELL. I turn 30 in 1 day, 15 hours, 6 minutes and 2ish seconds. How. did. this. happen? I feel like I should go buy something made of crushed velvet leopard print with rhinestones that read, "Hot Mama" and hang out in a karaoke bar during day time hours or something. I already like karaoke and I do already find teenagers a little frightening- plus they're probably on drugs, so- y'know- I'm moving along nicely with my 'out of touch with the youth' directive.

By the time my kids are actual teenagers, I should be good and embarrassing- which we all know is the best kind of parenting leverage that there is. "You got a tongue ring, dearest Daughter? WELL then I'm getting six of them. What time should I arrive at your school to show all of your friends? In the morning? I'll make an appointment with your teacher to show the class straight away. Should I wear my new leopard print leisure suit? Do you think the school will mind if I bring along my martini-in-a-water-bottle? MwahahahahAHHAHAHAHA! " It's a brilliant plan. I'm pretty excited about the whole thing.

So yeah. Almost there.

Men I Am Zany For: Three

Jeremy Northam

I first saw him in Emma & never recovered from the way he was wearing those breeches.

Loved him in The Winslow Boy, An Ideal Husband, Gosford Park & my favorite- Happy Texas.

Undeniable Fact #1

"A dog's hearing is so good that if it was on the moon and there was like... a siren on earth or something..... It could hear it. THAT'S how good dogs can hear. "

This is the information I picked up today from my 10 year old. When I had suggested that his information miiight be slightly... um.. embroidered, he assured me that this is a true fact. He read it. In a book. Just try and debate it.

Ten year olds know things, man. So many things, that I intend to devote an entire new category to this sort of information. He's like a gold mine of lost truth and I'd hate to forget some of his fruitful insight into things.

You Can Tell A Lot By A Picture...

If a picture really does speak a thousand words-this one would have hit us each on the head with a perfect personality description.

Carl Jung would have a field day with my family.

What do you suppose this picture says:

.

I know what it is saying to ME... what is it saying to YOU?

.

Deep Thoughts With June Cleaver...

In my constant search of the Internet... I came across this video. It intrigued me and I eventually made my way over to the web site.




It got me a' thinkin'

What does one do when they are in search of themselves?

What do you do?

I could see walking across the Nation like Forest Gump did. I mean, could you imagine the alone time? The moments of reflection and inner growth?

The blisters?

And when we are in search for ourselves, do we ever really find what we are looking for?

If you could walk from one point to another-what would be your point A and what would be your point B?

My point A would be this house... and my point B would be Ireland.

.

Imagine the people I would meet along the way.

Could you as a person really do this... walk from one point to another alone-with only your thoughts to entertain you? Maybe I would take my iPod.

I could.

I enjoy being a hermit at times.

Imagine the leg muscles you would develop.

Wow.

So.... where would you walk if you could? Where would you go to find yourself? What would be the song you played over and over again on your Nano?

I would play Wave on Wave by Pat Green.... just because I enjoy a good groovin'

Words To Live By

"You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough."

Mae West

Sigh... Is It Monday Already?

Phew! What a weekend! My little sister and her hubby came out for the weekend. They flew their plane-yes, their plane. Their little baby Ainsley says "Fly with Daddeeeee." Be jealous if you want-it is easy to be jealous of their precious trio-a trio that is becoming a quartet in Sept. Claire thinks it may be a little boy. If that is the case she has always liked the name "Daniel" but she is stuck on a middle name. I suggested "Craig" for obvious reasons.





Just because it is Monday and I love the Tudors. It may not be historically accurate... but who really gives a crap.

Just because it is Monday and I drank a little too much on Saturday and felt a little groggy all day Sunday and wanted to just take a nap on the couch...

.

Just because it is Monday and he is hot... and I ate so much food with my sister that I may or may not have gained 5 lbs. in three days flat. It is a new personal record.

.

Just because it is Monday and my oldest received her Confirmation this weekend. Uncle Ryan was her sponsor and he has a keen ability to make little eighth grade girls giggle and little eighth grade boys squirm. Anyway... I heart Father Jon, but not in a "Thornbirds" sort of way.

Just because it is Monday and the weather was warm and the parks were packed with shirtless men playing ultimate Frisbee, sand volleyball and baseball. Who ever thought of the phrase "Shirts or Skins" was one smart woman.

Just because it is Monday and I love baseball.

Just because it is Monday and I miss football.



Just because it is Monday and we went to listen to a friend's band play on Saturday night and the lead singer looks a lot like Daughtry. Nice. Red stood me up-thanks a lot Red!

.

Just because it is Monday and at one point in the evening on Saturday my brother-in-law said "Is that Harry Connick Jr?" and all of the women at the table got whiplash turning our heads around to see what he was talking about.... he was talking about the song that was playing-but he could have been talking about the actual HCJ. We weren't taking our chances.

.

.

Just because it is Monday and there is something about a dirty bald man that makes me forget that it is Monday. Sigh.

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Just because it is Monday and I think Eminem's new song is just about the funniest thing out there right now. I would link to it-but I am having a hard time doing that because of Father Jon up there...

Just because it is Monday and every Six-Pack needs a mascot. Oh yeah. You all know I am an Air Force wife... but sometimes you have to give props to the boys who fly in the Navy.




Enjoy the week ladies... I feel a give away coming on for next week's Swoon. What it can be is a secret-because I haven't figured that part out yet. It is Monday after all.

Here is a little bit of Sunday morning awesome.

Click here.

Who even needs flowers?

While sitting here, minding my own business just clickity clicking away at my email, I heard a little *scritch scritch..* dwindling into the general background noise of the house somewhere. It registered, but wasn't a serious enough noise to be concerned about. You know, there- but unimportant. I'm the master of blocking out unimportant noises so I ignored it.

*click clackity click...* I proceeded with my emailing.

*Scritch scritch scritch..* the noise continued. Huh.

So I looked up to see the business end of a yellow measuring tape slowly making it's way toward me from across the table.

Me: What are you doing?"

*scritch scritch poke*

Neil: I'm exactly 53.4 inches away from your boob."

RIP Beatrice Arthur 1922-2009

Lucy in Three Penny Opera
Yenta in Fiddler On The Roof
Vera Charles in Mame
Maude Findlay on All In The Family & on Maude
Dorothy Zbornak on The Golden Girls
If that were all, it still would have been an amazing lifetime.




A great talent as an actress & singer for seven decades on Stage, Screen & Television
Golden Globe, Tony & Emmy winner...here she sings with Rock Hudson about drug use:




"After being in the business for such a long time, I've done everything but rodeo and porno."

Dear Birds,

I realize that you are all madly in love and busy with spring procreation, but how on earth can it be that there are 238720987529384723 different species of you outside, competing for the loudest and most obnoxious, deafening song? This is Canada. You were supposed have frozen to death and I'll be damned if I've even seen ONE penguin quietly rolling it's egg anywhere. Just raccoons, squirrels and bazillions of twitty birds. It's so unfair.

Now don't get me wrong, Birds of my neighborhood, I love birds as much as the next guy- but I have to admit that am forced to consider constructing a Vlad the Impaler-esque plastic bird arrangement on my front lawn so that you can write letters to your neighborhood bird association- complaining of my hateful display, demanding that something be done with your little bird petition to make it more livable around here for you. Then, when the letter is finally processed by the bird bureaucracy and slow moving legal system due to the uphill battle you'll have to fight against social stigma regarding Bird tolerance, so much time will have passed that you'll all have given up and moved to my arch nemesis's neighborhood instead to drive THEM insane enough to burn their own house down just to make you go away, (killing 2 birds with one stone) because too bad, Birds, you have no human rights. Just the flimsy bird rights which that hippy, Pamela Anderson fights fruitlessly for.

After all, the bottom line is that you're all delicious on toasted paninis with a little rosemary, sea salt and olive oil and your bird babies are just the right size to fit into tasty little birdy samosas. I might even make a little cash if I set up a stand at the bus stop selling these baby bird samosas. I'm thinking $2 each would be a good price. $3 if I decorate them by having your little birdy legs poke out of the pastry edges with little tiny unstylish shoes on.

Love

Chelle.

It gives me pause, but...

What if the HOKEY-POKEY really IS what it's all about?

Gayest Post Ever: Wake Me Up Before You Go Go

This blog is about me, my life, my thoughts, ideas & opinions...
I want to start the weekend off with something uber-gay (my friend Tad told me last night- "there is such a thing as TOO gay") & take a moment to reflect, not just on MOVIE MUSICALS, but even gayer- CHOREOGRAPHY! This one goes out to my friend Walter Kennedy, Professor of Dance at the University of Oregon:



This clip is by blogger: And Your Little Blog, Too.

This post brought to you by: Booze in my breakfast cereal.

Well. It's 8:06 am and I have had a most wonderful start to my day/continued day from yesterday- seeing as nobody got to sleep- thank you Eleanore's new tooth. We awoke to a chattering baby girl in her crib and an aroma resonating in through our nostrils and out through our ears. At first I thought it might have been my breath. Then I glared at Neil because surely it was HIS. Nope. It all registered in my brain too quickly.

Eleanore pooped the crib, then did some artwork. The little blessing from Heavenly Heaven who I love and adore and forgive and cherish from her piggy tails to her poop caked feet. If you could see the grin plastered across my face, you'd know how much I mean it.

The angel of reek.

Now I'm not going to be one of those parents who claims that the Virgin Mary appeared in the baby's poop-art but I'm telling you- it might have been the last supper (Get it? OH so FUNNY. No it wasn't. Sorry). No it was just the regular poop smears. Don't tell Neil, but so far she's no Picasso. Bev Doolittle maybe.... but not Picasso.

I'm delirious. I didn't sleep. It's not my fault that I am making vague-puns. I have acid reflux, too. I'm all out of rolaids. I woke up to a poopchild. I'm falling apart! Don't leave me.

New Music

I really like House Music... I now, I guess I really like Swedish House Music. I know I sure dig this new video from Adrian Lux:

Quote of the Day

Words to live by:

“...it doesn't matter how you feel inside, you know? It's what shows up on the surface that counts. That's what my mother taught me. Take all your bad feelings and push them down, all the way down, past your knees until you're almost walking on them. And then you'll fit in, and you'll be invited to parties, and boys will like you, and happiness will follow.”

Marge Simpson

What Every Girl Needs...

Friends.

Every woman needs friends, and I am not talking about the friends that you have because you have children the same age and you are thrown together in the ballet waiting room or the side of the baseball field... no, I am talking about those friends that you can call in the middle of the night and say "I think I may have just shit my pants." and they will calmly and evenly respond, "Well... do you have your good panties on and did you have corn for dinner?" and then you respond, "No-I think someone is in my backyard about to come in and kill and rape me-I just know it..." and they will say, "Are we talking Ted Bundy-good looking-killer or Charles Manson-holy hells bells ugly-killer?" and eventually you are in a discussion about Lifetime movies and whether or not you should wax or shave your unmentionables and you have forgotten about the frightening person on your back deck that does not exist.

I have made mention before that I have a very small circle of friends that I consider my true blues. You know who you are... and I love you, but today I am going to talk about my friend Lisa.

Lisa is my soul twin-no lying on this one. We get each other and there is something so cerebrally satisfying to know that there is actually another person in this world that thinks the same warped things that you do about many quirky habits.

The funny thing about Lisa is that as much as we are alike, we are polar opposites... for instance, she has great big titties, and I don't. She is a liberal, and I am not. She may or may not believe in God, and God is the reason I get up every morning and sift through this life. She has brown hair, I have blonde. She is short, I am tall. She is funny... oh wait-we do have that in common.

We are both health nuts... I am a vegetarian-but Lisa is a carnivore. Lisa only buys organics at Whole Foods and then I bust her by calling her in the middle of the day and listening to her talk through mouthfuls of food and I say "What are you eating?" and she will say "Shut up, leave me alone." and I'll say "Step away from the Suzie-Q!" Thank goodness we both agree that alcohol is good for you... but you should never drink Heineken because it is the only beer with formaldehyde in it, unless of course it is the beer on special for $1.00, but thankfully, that is usually a crappy Bud Lite so we are safe.

Why am I thankful for Lisa? Because she refuses to let me sulk in my bad moods. She insists I get up off of my rear and sweat my urine through my skin in yoga class. She drags me out of my doldrums and listens to me, gives me a hug, smacks me on the ass and says "Go forth and be happy young grasshopper."

She also has a stocked liquor cabinet. Sweet.

Everyone should have a Lisa like my Lisa in their life. A friend that will keep calling you even when you don't return phone calls for six months and say "Hey! Let's go out and get so drunk we get in a fight, puke and eventually wonder how we traded clothes in the middle of the night."

I hope you have a Lisa. A person who can look at you and know your faults and love you in spite of them-or rather... love you even more because of them.

A Rare Monster

Holy crap you guys... I just saw my neighbor out of doors in his back yard. It's like a wildlife miracle. I would be less shocked to see the famed chupacabra christmas velociraptor. Even now, I am peering through the venetian blinds with my opera binoculars. He's looking at things. Shhhhhhhh..... let's not frighten him. Perhaps he's mapping out a new underground bunker to keep his people-pets in. I was under the impression that if he left his basement, all of the people he's kidnapped and is keeping down there might somehow alert the world to their presence.... or his grow op might become exposed. Someone might angle themselves just so and see in one of the dented blinds while his milk white head reflects the sun into their eyes, rendering them blind FOREVER. He didn't seem to be sparkling or anything, so I don't think he's a vampire. He has shiny spots, but no direct.. y'know... vampire sparkles. I feel as though I've seen the semi-hairless, caucasian cave Samsquanch.

(real book)

This is an exciting day for rare neighbor watching enthusiasts everywhere.

Aliens Violated Cousin Steve...

I have not mentioned Cousin Steve lately... so I thought I would go behind his back and make fun of him today. He loves that kind of thing.

Steve and I are buds-compadres-soul friends-siblings from separate diblings... and he is a pain in my ass. A boil on my butt and a splinter in my spleen.

Speaking of spleens... did you know his is enlarged? Yep-so is his head, but that is another story for another time.

Steve is heading to Northwestern this morning... for those of you non-Chicago people, that means that Steve is heading to the Big Game-the place where they will poke him, prod him and experiment on him until they figure out just what is wrong with him.

He doesn't feel good. He can't get through a day without pain and we are not talking the kind of pain that I go through a day (like-which shoes I wear? Flip flops or flip flops) no, Steve is in so much pain that all I can do is try and make him laugh when we talk-because laughter is the best medicine and he makes me laugh out loud through my tears and I can only hope to do the same for him.

I suggested that maybe aliens have abducted him and that is why he is having these problems. You all laugh now-but wait until they pull some 10 foot communicating device from his butt and then who will be laughing? Huh? Freakin' aliens.

Last night Steve called while I was at Hot Yoga. I saw his call as soon as I was out and so I zipped him a phone call back-which I know Steve loves when I call him when I am at my most hyper of the day... which is generally 24 hours a day, but after a work out my endorphins are a ragin' and I am especially hyper-giddy-loud-abusive-funny-and a damn good time in general.

During our phone conversation it all suddenly hit me. I know exactly why Steve is sick and I know exactly what he needs to do to get better...

I told him-in my best "LIFE IS GREAT" voice that he needed to stop eating meat, start drinking more water, and start doing yoga.

He called me a witch and hung up on me.

I called back and after convincing him that our phone call was not being recorded by the government and I was not a terrorist, he told me I could take my hot yoga and shove it where the sun don't shine... which on Steve is anywhere below his big fat head.

Sigh.

I just want him to get better-or at least to figure out why he is not feeling good. Those docs up at Northwestern need to know that if they do not help him they will have a rather small spitfire of a blonde woman knocking on their door and letting them see first hand what june cleaver means when she says (say it with me six-packers...) I will f*&$ you up!

Damn straight.

In the meantime... please toss up a peace sign to the Big Guy in the Sky for Steve today. He is a guinea pig and unless he ain't being served up with some fava beans and a nice Chianti, it is not fun to be a guinea pig.

Say a prayer-thank God for Steve from me and ask Him to lay His Healing Hands on my cousin, who is so much more to me than a cousin.

Thanks.

This is still bugging me.

So the other day we went to the beach. It was a very nice day. Very nice weather. The same day that I ran up the hill, actually. Anyhow, we'd decided to all stumble around in the sand. The kids were finding shells and dismembered crab claws and garbage etc to stick in their pockets for me to find later and throw up.

Not too far from us, was a nice little family building a sand castle. Oh how delightful it was- until we wandered closer to them and found that the Father was like, the angry, jaded foreman of sandcastle building and his 3ish and 5ish year old crew members were just not making the cut. I'd say borderline ass on the line, almost fired if they didn't watch it.

Never in my life have I seen someone more frustrated at sandcastles being built unevenly by preschoolers:

"No no no, it's NOT STRAIGHT. We have to remake it", and he mashes down the new tower.

"No, it's not symmetrically lining up" Mash Mash

"That will never work!, COME ON! Line it up!"

"I SAID don't put the tower there!"

Among other confidence building statements.

Like, take a step back and a big breath of fresh air, guy. Mebbe count to 12 or something or picture baby chickens and rainbow unicorns for a minute or two. Was he worried that clients were watching? Was he worried that the Mike Holmes of sandcastle critique would pop out of a bush and criticize their shoddy workmanship and he'd never work in this town again? "Gee whiz there Buddy, if that's any indication of how you would build a real castle, you and your crew here are just not going to be able to work for our massive, global sand-home building enterprise. Better luck next time. It's a shame because you stood to make gajillions of dollars. We're also going to be filming a shameful exposé about the substandard work we see here today".


I dunno, Maybe that WAS the case. There were quite a few strangers there after all. Mike Holmes is pretty much everywhere. Him and Christopher Lloyd. Anyhow, the point is that I've finished publicly judging him and it was very cathartic for me.

Carry on.

I Love This!

This stuff makes me so joyful. This is more Improv Everywhere style madness...this time at Piccadilly Circus in London.
I thought I was all done with All the Single Ladies videos, but one more time:



Do you think Shane Mercado is in there somewhere?

Men I Am Zany For: two

I am a BIG fan of Christopher Meloni. The husband & I watched every episode of OZ. The HBO series gave me "Meloni on the brain" & it made me never want to go to prison.

Oh Glorious Earth. (Plants are not sexual objects for people.)

Lookie look what is going on in my killing field flower bed. You might be asking yourself at this moment, "Does that shrubbery have a cauliflower-esque sexually transmitted rash like the ones we had to look at in high school health class when they showed us the Captain Condom VenErIaL DiSeASe educational cartoons?" I hope not. I mean no. It's LEEEEeEEEAVES!!

It happened so fast, too! I haven't even had to time to kill them with well intended plant love yet (I said it's NOT an STD, move on). I'm just trying to tell you how much I kill plants. Even the spicy little rosemary plant that I had for my window sill hung itself in my closet last week.

K. I'm off to do something about Christopher Lloyd sneaking into my bedroom and doing my hair juuust like his in the dead of night. That bastard. Wait a minute... Maybe he did something sinister to my shrubberies, too. Maybe it's not leaves. Christopher Lloyd will you just leave us alone???!!?

I think everyone here pretty much gets the point, which is to use protection when you're in a foreign shrubbery. Also- Hurray, winter is over. As you can see, the two issues are closely related. (Also, Christopher Lloyd, if you're reading this... I know what you did.)

*Snicker- I totally stole the Captain Condom header from their website. Just spreading the good news.

So This Is How Crazy People Live...

4:30 AM and I am up. Wide awake and exhausted. How does this happen? How is it possible that so many thoughts can be floating through my little brain at such a rate that they not only make me wake up every 40 minutes or so, but also makes me wake up before the sunrises, fully alert and ready to go find a baseball bat and clobber the Sandman?

Sigh.

I can't be PMSing because I am about to ovulate... so I am unable to even blame my mood on mother nature.

Is is because of Spring? I don't think so, I love being able to strip off the sweatshirts and wear a tank top and feel the warmth of the sun on my shoulders. It makes me smile-it brings me happiness... so surely my mood is not that cause of Spring. I mean, I don't even have allergies so I can enjoy the bursting of flowers to the fullest... just not at 4:30 in the morning.

Last night I tried to wear myself out a bit... and what do I do when I am feeling down? I dance. That is right... I dance.

I plugged my iPod into my ears and jumped around like a teenager on American Bandstand. My children stared at me, laughed at me, and eventually joined in... but eventually I retreated to my bedroom, closed the door and continued to dance.

I am such a goof. What kind of woman dances alone on a Monday night?

One that has so many thoughts rolling around in her head that she can't help herself I suppose.

Wanna know my song list last night? It was a doozy-considering that I am a Rock Star (Chad Kroeger told me I was and I believe him) I tried to dance to some Theory of a Deadman (Bad Girlfriend is just about the best song out there right now... but don't listen to it if you went to confession in the last year-you'll have to go again) but it was just not working for me, so I switched to Club Music... Pop songs even. I know-I am just as shocked as you, but when my mother and father came together in the name of love and made me, I received all of my mother's dancing abilities and I can tear up the dance floor like nobody's business. I love to dance-my sisters love to dance too... we love to dance together, which reminds me that my little sister and her hubby are coming out this weekend and we are going out on Saturday night and DANCING! Well... I will be dancing-moving and shaking-twisting and twirling... I am not sure if Claire will dance seeing as she is pregnant and I seriously doubt her husband will dance considering he is, well... not a dancer.

Anyway-my mind erasing song list was as follows:

• Round the Bend by The Great Divide (yes, it is even country-but I love it so much that I play it over and over and over again in my ears. I just don't know why.)


• When I Grow Up by the Pussycat Dolls. (how embarrassing... especially when they say that wanted boobies.)


• Let's Get it Started by the Black Eyed Peas (just try and not move when you hear this song. I dare ya.)


• Leavin' by Jesse McCartney (I like how he calls her "baby girl" although I don't know what a "lady raid?" is or what in the world "flyin' on the G5" means.)


• Beautiful by Akon (when I hear this song I pull up only one of my pant legs and giggle when he says "can I be your baby father" and whoever thought of calling a woman a "shorty" is a genius.)


• Keeps Gettin' Better by Christina Aguilera (it is my theme song... love when she says "serve it up in a shot and suck it up like a man. Damn straight.)


• Just Dance by Laddy GaGa. I know-I couldn't help myself.

I closed out the set with Seether's "Fake It" just to reassure you all that I am still a Rock star-nothing like a little headbanging to get all of that Pop funk off of me.

Even now, as I am sitting here with my iPod in my ears I have the urge to get up-move a little-escape this mood.

What do you do to escape a mood? Have any homeopathic remedies I can try? Acupuncture? Shopping? Give me your therapy for blowing the stink off of yourself... I can use all the help I can get because I am getting tired of knowing what 4:30 AM looks like.

Happy Birthday Stanley Snowdy!

Stanley Evans Snowdy was born on April 20th, 1954 (interesting that he was born on 420). He became my first BFF. Stanley Snowdy & I met in first grade. We have lived in the same city three times. There were periods where we would loose track of each other for a few years, but we always found each other again. There was an era when we saw each other daily for about three years. We have been through a lot of good times, a few sexy times, & we have helped each other through some major shit. Stanley has lost two partners. He is also a little nutty.

He has lived in Spokane, Phoenix, Portland, Eugene, Astoria, Seattle & now he lives with his two dogs in Palm Springs.

We both moved back to Spokane, for a short sprint in the late 70s, to collect ourselves after some trauma of some kind (boys). At that time he lived in Peaceful Valley, a neighborhood in Spokane, near downtown, that is right on the river, not far from the falls. He lived in an original cabin that was one step up from a squatter's shack. At one point he lived in William Holden's mother's house in Palm Springs. I think he lived in his beloved VW for a time. In the 90s, he didn't live- but might as well have, at our house in Seattle. He collects cigar boxes & he has hundreds. The husband & I have several objects that came from Stanley... so we think of him often. He is loved.

A little something juicy: Stanley & the husband had an affair once, before the husband & I were an item. One Degree of Separation? I think they would have been terrific BFs- two difficult, stubborn, hard headed, artistic Aires!

in answer to my question- does that really cute barista boy still work there...?

The husband replied-

"Steve... boys come & boys go & barista boys come & go faster."

Men I am zany about: the first in a series

I am a fan of JASON STATHAM.

I covet Dale's ricotta, okay?

I was going to take my camera to boot camp today, but at 5:30 am, I am satisfied that I even remembered to wear pants (this time). Not that anyone else there would notice. Most people arrive blinking with their hair still mashed to one side of their heads and really, the only thing anyone can focus on is Instructor Dale's breakfast smoothie. "What's in the smoothie, Dale?" 8 or 11 women ask, eyeballing it the way a bunch of out of shape Eves in the Garden of Eden would eyeball the forbidden fruit of knowledge- and Dale is the snake/devil tempting everyone. "Field berries and ricotta." Says Dale/Satan. "Ricotta, huh?" The women ask. "Yeah *smirk*. It's a long story."

I'll bet it is. I bet it's a very long, intriguing story about berries & lasagna cheese all blended together that we would all laugh heartily at and feel enlightened about thereafter. "Ohhhh..... I seeeee." We'd all say while nodding thoughtfully after Dale related the long, complicated story to us. Then we'd make mental notes to purchase ricotta and field berries (I also think that a couple/few ounces of Jamaican rum would be nice in it) for the next boot camp class.

The point is that I don't really care WHY there is ricotta in it (even though it's the cheese intended for lasagna). I would personally like to just steal Dale/The Devil's smoothie, sneak out to the hall and give it a try, but I just know there are stool-pigeons in that class. (They're the perky ones who already know why someone would put ricotta in their smoothie and also feel smug about this knowledge) I'd get busted and then what? Everyone would be watching me like vultures and I'd be looking behind my back for the rest of the boot camp sessions- possibly forever. They might even give me a nickname like- 'The Bootcamp Breakfast Bandito' or 'That crazy freak at bootcamp' or 'Shirley' (because why not?). Well I don't want to get caught up in that kind of criminal lifestyle anyway. My family is just too important to me.

All I know is that it sits on the counter and everyone's head does a wide eyed, owl-esque 180 as they run past it. Who's gonna be the first to steal the forbidden fruit? Huh? WHO?

Who? Who? WHO?

Hair Swoon... Get Your Hair Swoon Here...

I try very hard to guide my children in all aspects of life, and my main goal is to help them on their way to heaven of course. With the little ones, I try and help them get through the day without coloring on the walls or getting bubble gum in the dog's fur. With my son I try and get him through the day without taking any trips to the emergency room or the police station... but with my oldest daughter, I try really hard to get her through the day with the most important lessons of all.

Swoons.

Now, you may be saying "June! How can you be teaching your daughter about swoons? You are a horrible, despicable, incomprehensible mother!" and to all of that I say... yeah, SO?

You see... I had to teach my daughter about Rock and Roll or she would be destined to love silly boy bands like The Jonas Brothers (gag) which, sadly I will admit that she does love them and she is actually going to their concert this summer (the third time she will be seeing them in concert-I know, it pains me as well) but I am happy to say that next to all of those bubble gum songs on her iPod, she also has some Nickelback, Saving Able and Theory of a Deadman (oh, relax, she is only allowed the PG songs-none of the ones that talk about pants around your ankles or any of the other really REALLY good ones.)

And I have finally convinced her that Harley Davidson Motorcycles are sooo much better than those "crotch rocket" motorcycle types that all of the half-baked-fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants-and-you-can't-trust-them boys like to race around town in.

But there is one area that I just cannot sway her on. Hair. Yes, hair. She likes hair on boys. I am talking lots of hair-surfer hair, long hair, sprayed, coiffed, hi-lited and styled hair.

Where did I go wrong I ask you? I knew today that I would never be able to convince her to like a nice buzz cut or a clean cut crop (which is what I really like even if I do say that Robert Pattinson's hair drives me crazy-so crazy that it is hair porn for me.... but I digress).

This evening we went out for dinner and as we were leaving my daughter, being the good and obedient oldest sibling, took little 2-year-old Mary into her arms and carried her across the parking lot to put her in her car seat (without even being asked... see Ma, Rock and Roll does not make a teenager's brain explode.) As she was cradling the baby in her arms and walking, a boy-a teenage boy with long, flowing, thick, surfer dude, swiped to the side of his head hair walked past her. He watched her. He smiled at her. He even flipped his head to the side so that his greatest attribute-his lovely locks-would flip and fall perfectly into a certain disheveled place that gave him an effortless coolness about him. I couldn't help but smile because I knew my daughter's heart was pounding... and I also gave that boy a dirty look that said "Back off buster-you do not want to mess with that sweet little girl up there or I will F&^% you up! That is right! I am June Cleaver and I will F^%^ you up!" I am so amazed at how I can convey that entire sentence with just a single glance... I am that good at being a mom.

I climbed into the car and looked at my daughter and she was scowling at me. What did I do?

Daughter: "Mother! I can't believe you have so many children and I am carrying one when a cute boy smiles at me!"

Me: "What? It is not my fault! Talk to your father."

Daughter: "He probably thought that Mary was mine... or worse! He probably thought that we are part of a cult of something!"

Me: "Hey-I hear cults are all the rage now-a-days, you need to read your Tiger Beat more."

Daughter: "He was cute.... (sigh, swoon, sigh again) did you see his hair? I wonder how old he is. I wonder if he can drive."

Me: (rolling my eyes so hard that I can see the back of my brain)"Well, considering he was driving that big red pick up (okay, I will admit that pick ups are cool) I bet he is at least 16... and he is here with his Grandma-who probably owns the pick up-unless of course that is his girlfriend... maybe he is into older ladies, but he is too old for you and he has too long of hair." (I threw that last remark about the hair in there to tick her off... and the grandma dating remark just purely to gross her out.)

Daughter: "His hair was perfect." (notice how she ignored my grandma dating remark... she is good.)

Me: "Yeah... too bad he thinks you have a baby."

Daughter "MOTHER!"

And then I laughed the rest of the way home...

So to make it up to my hair-loving daughter, I am going to put youngsters with hair on the Monday Swoon.

Lord help me.

Are you even old enough to vote son?

What was I talking about? Hair.... does he even have hair? I can't see it.

Mirror Mirror on the wall... scoot over so my boyfriend can see himself and borrow my hairbrush and mouse and gel and hair spray... and has anyone seen my teeth whitener?




This is the worst of all... my daughter has this joker on her bedroom wall. She is Team Jacob. I know... I am embarrassed. Look at his hair! Can you imagine what the drain in the shower looks like when he is done? Ugh-gross.

Okay... fine. Sometimes I understand hair on a man. Sometimes.

*********UPDATE********************UPDATE********************

My apologies ladies... truly. I just reread this post and said WTF Jimmy! So I thought I would put some baldies on the Monday Swoon to remind us wimins that bald is beautiful-it is manly-it is easy to maintain-and it requires no extra primping in front of the mirror. Who wants a man that has to primp in the mirror? Not moi.

The Six-Pack has been schooled.

My apologies to the masses.

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