Aww Baby . . .

Come here sugar . . . mama's got her arms wide open!

Just a Man

At some point you realize your parents are just people. Real people with flaws who don't have any special powers. It's a normal part of growing up.

But, I don't even like my father as a person.

What now?

" .... go marching in."

As Hartley's kick headed straight at the center of those uprights I remained silent. I just waited because even though it looked good you just never know. It could be short. I've seen that.

And then it happened: THE SAINTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!

Those boys made me cry again, only these are tears of joy.

I want to believe. I want to say, "They have really changed. This time it really IS different."

I want it to be.
Please let it be.

Who DAT!!!!!

Oh When the Saints . . .

I've been a Saints fan since elementary school.

I wanted so much to be the apple of my father's eye that I'd watch the games with him. I didn't get what was going on, but I'd listen intently as he absent-mindedly explained the game to me. It took me years before I really understood what was going on.

My patience paid off because as I got older my dad would take me to the Superdome to watch the games. Being the world's biggest cheapskate we only went when someone in his office decided not to use his tickets. The Saints were not a winning team at the time so we went to a number of games.

I can still hear the crack of the helmets when they smack against each other. The sound of a perfectly kicked field goal. Morten Andersen was our only hope: The Great Dane.

You learn a lot of lessons as a Saints fan.

You learn about persistence, loyalty, hope. If you've been a fan for any length of time you realize you can't be a fair-weather fan. Loving the Saints also means learning to accept disapointment, loss and heartache.

Even knowing that, I let myself dream. The 2006/2007 season felt like the payoff after all those years of being a fan. We were so close and then on January 21, 2007 when the Saints lost 39–14 to the Chicago Bears in the NFC Championship game something happened.

I was running errands near the end of the game, and I was listening to it on the radio. Parked in the lot of Petsmart I laid my head on the steering wheel, and I cried like a baby.

I am not even kidding when I tell you that up until that point I fantasized about the announcer yelling, "And the SAINTS have one the Super Bowl."

I felt like a fool for crying over a game, but even worse I felt like a fool for allowing myself to even think WINNING the Super Bowl was a possibility. Since then I've taken the whole "Fool me once . . . " attitude towards the Saints. Then this season happened.

I told my mom that I broke up with the Saints because it's too much like staying with an abusive boyfriend. Year after year you tell yourself, "This time it will be different," and then they go and break your heart again. Even with the score at Saints 45-14 with a two-minute warning I was certain the Saints would blow it last week. But they didn't.

Now here we are.

Fashion Faux Pas

I grew up in the 80s and started to care about fashion in the 90s. Please understand that when I say "care" I really just mean I became aware that clothes were for more than just covering up.

I loved Madonna's Like a Virgin look, but I knew I couldn't pull it off. Sadly, I tried. Then I saw Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink. In Sixteen Candles she had that great hat and the navy blue shirt and long skirt. I tried to pick clothes that had similar silhouettes, but they just made me like I was on a day trip from "the home."

Then I really wanted to look like her in Breakfast Club. Of course, she was covered in head-to-toe Ralph Lauren. But . . . oh . . . those boots she wore in that movie: I still covet them.

Or course, who can forget the wardrobe she had in Pretty in Pink. Andy was living Project Runway. The prom dress though? Yeah, not so much. Still though, I wanted to wear those cute little thrift store outfits, but I just looked homeless.

I'm still trying to figure out my

Why I Want a Wife

First off, I totally ganked this off the internet. My SIL and I were talking about how I would like a wife to cook me dinner and she'd like a wife so that she can have a designated driver.

By Judy Syfers (1971)

(Editors Note: This classic piece of feminist humor appeared in the premier issue of Ms. Magazine and was widely circulated in the women's movement.)

I belong to that classification of people known as wives. I am A Wife.

And, not altogether incidentally, I am a mother. Not too long ago a male friend of mine appeared on the scene fresh from a recent divorce. He had one child, who is, of course, with his ex-wife. He is looking for another wife. As I thought about him while I was ironing one evening, it suddenly occurred to me that I too, would like to have a wife. Why do I want a wife?

I would like to go back to school so that I can become economically independent, support myself, and if need be, support those dependent upon me. I want a wife who will work and send me to school. And while I am going to school I want a wife to take care of my children. I want a wife a wife to keep track of the children's doctor and dentist appointments. And to keep track of mine, too. I want a wife to make sure my children eat properly and are kept clean. I want a wife who will wash the children's clothes and keep them mended. I want a wife who is a good nurturing attendant to my children, who arranges for their schooling, makes sure that they have an adequate social life with their peers, takes them to the park, the zoo, etc. I want a wife who takes care of the children when they are sick, a wife who arranges to be around when the children need special care, because, of course, I cannot miss classes at school. My wife must arrange to lose time at work and not lose the job. It may mean a small cut in my wife's income from time to time, but I guess I can tolerate that. Needless to say, my wife will arrange and pay for the care of the children while my wife is working.

I want a wife who will take care of my physical needs. I want a wife who will keep my house clean. A wife who will pick up after my children, a wife who will pick up after me. I want a wife who will keep my clothes clean, ironed, mended, replaced when need be, and who will see to it that my personal things are kept in their proper place so that I can find what I need the minute I need it. I want a wife who cooks the meals, a wife who is a good cook. I want a wife who will plan the menus, do the necessary grocery shopping, prepare the meals,serve them pleasantly, and then do the cleaning up while I do my studying. I want a wife who will care for me when I am sick and sympathize with my pain and loss of time from school. I want a wife to go along when our family takes a vacation so that someone can continue care for me and my when I need a rest and change of scene. I want a wife who will not bother me with rambling complaints about a wife's duties. But I want a wife who will listen to me when I feel the need to explain a rather difficult point I have come across in my course of studies. And I want a wife who will type my papers for me when I have written them.

I want a wife who will take care of the details of my social life. When my wife and I are invited out by my friends, I want a wife who take care of the baby-sitting arrangements. When I meet people at school that I like and want to entertain, I want a wife who will have the house clean, will prepare a special meal, serve it to me and my friends, and not interrupt when I talk about things that interest me and my friends. I want a wife who will have arranged that the children are fed and ready for bed before my guests arrive so that the children do not bother us. I want a wife who takes care of the needs of my quests so that they feel comfortable, who makes sure that they have an ashtray, that they are passed the hors d'oeuvres, that they are offered a second helping of the food, that their wine glasses are replenished when necessary, that their coffee is served to them as they like it. And I want a wife who knows that sometimes I need a night out by myself.

I want a wife who is sensitive to my sexual needs, a wife who makes love passionately and eagerly when I feel like it, a wife who makes sure that I am satisfied. And, of course, I want a wife who will not demand sexual attention when I am not in the mood for it. I want a wife who assumes the complete responsibility for birth control, because I do not want more children. I want a wife who will remain sexually faithful to me so that I do not have to clutter up my intellectual life with jealousies. And I want a wife who understands that my sexual needs may entail more than strict adherence to monogamy. I must, after all, be able to relate to people as fully as possible.

If, by chance, I find another person more suitable as a wife than the wife I already have, I want the liberty to replace my present wife with another one. Naturally, I will expect a fresh, new life; my wife will take the children and be solely responsible for them so that I am left free.

When I am through with school and have a job, I want my wife to quit working and remain at home so that my wife can more fully and completely take care of a wife's duties.

My God, who wouldn't want a wife?

'Cuz You've Got to Have Friends

I love Facebook. I'm not the best person on the phone because the silences make me squirm. But texting I love and Facebook is perfect for that means of communication.

I love my Facebook girlfriends because they all elicit from me big, brassy, raucous laughs.

I just had a septoplasty done to correct a deviated septum. I've always known I have a deviated septum. The first ENT I ever saw was when I was in HS and when he looked up my nose he said to my dad, "Wow! You've got to see this!" My septum started out straight and then took a 90 degree turn. He said one day I'd probably have problems with it, but why do the surgery when it isn't necessary now. That was in 1992.

A normal septum and turbinates look like this:



This is not my cat scan, but this is what my cat scan looked like:



That white bright piece down the center does what mine did. It was a deviate septum with a bone spur. Now look at the color picture. See where the Middle Turbinate bone is? It's yellow-orange and looks like sponge cake. It's bone covered by tissue. My nasal spur was pressing against the middle turbinate bone.

Over the last two years this has caused me debilitating pain. Pain that was so severe I was missing work. Since becoming aware of this I'v really started to question my history of migraines and whether or not they were really migraines. During my last two headaches I noticed the migraine meds weren't doing the trick at all. So I went to my ENT because I thought maybe I had a sinus infection.

He reviewed my CAT scan. No sign of an infection. He did see that my septum and turbinate bones were awfully clost to one another. After blowing some sort of numbing spray up my nostril I had instant relief from the headache. This led him to believe my headaches were being caused by the bones rubbing together.

Stop for a minute and think about that.

I had bone rubbing against bone IN MY FACE.

I had the surgery on Friday and went back to work on Wednesday. The worst of my pain was on Sunday. My post-surgery pain was so severe I said to my husband, "I don't know how women do it? I don't know how they have babies!"

I told my friend Nicole, a mother, this same story and she said, "Now remember, a vagina is bigger than your nose."

Doing Better

Some days are good and some days are bad. Lately though I'd found myself having more bad ones than good ones. However, like most downward swings do . . . hopefully, eventually they move upwards again.

I found a new job!!!!

There's a part of me that thinks I was damn lucky because sometimes finding a job takes luck, but the honest truth is that finding a new job takes a lot of hard work. So I really want to shout Oprah-style, "IIIIII DIIIIIID ITTTTTT!"

I hustled.

I sent out a ridiculous amount of resumes to job openings, recruiters, former bosses . . . former bosses that I would rather have rather used my tongue to walk on hot coals than to ever speak to. I made a pathetic, ineffective plea to a former trainer I used to work with whom I hadn't spoken to in months. I did a little worst case scenario thinking, but I didn't get mired in it.

From the time the FDIC took over Colonial to the time I got my job offer it took five weeks. A few days after the shock wore off I updated my resume and created two different versions of it. A functional resume and a regular chronological resume. I wrote cover letter after cover letter, cold-contact prospecting letters, I made finding a new job my full-time job.

Did I get lucky?

I got lucky that in this economy I found a job doing what I want to be doing at a slightly higher pay. But, I was ready for it when I found it.

I DID THIS.