Happy VD

I’m just here to say that you haven’t experienced Valentine’s Day until you’ve experienced an elementary school classroom on Valentine’s Day.

The pink cookies with sprinkles, the Valentine Cards, the vanilla cupcakes with confetti icing, the heart-shaped donuts, the glittered Valentine boxes, the conversation hearts, the high volumed children, the green-sucker stained tongues, the sugar highs, (including me, the teacher), and finally the sugar crash.

I’m whipped.

Can I just tell you that I’m whipped?

Will someone please listen to me when I stress that I am W-H-I-P-P-E-D?


Cupid took a bull whip and lashed me, whipped me, stomped me, and then sat his fat, half-naked butt on top of me with an arrow poking me in the gut.

My brain is cream cheese frosting right now.


Here’s my logic:  if light is opposite dark, and black is opposite white, and up is opposite down, then salt is opposite sugar.  Logical?  Yes, I think so. 

I just consumed an enormous amount of Gardetto’s with 430 milligrams of sodium to help offset the 900 grams of sugar I ate today.

It’s not working.


My romantic thought of the day:  On our honeymoon Jason took me by the hand, pushed the PLAY button on Patsy Cline’s Crazy, and we slow danced cheek-to-cheek in Nashville’s Country Music Hall of Fame while tourists stared, and the world stopped turning except for us that day.


We can do no great things;
only small things with great love. —–Mother Teresa


Valentine Day?

How can anyone be romantic on a day with the initials VD?

Happy Heart Day, tell someone you love them.

I didn’t marry no pimp, that’s fo’sho’

My husband loves New Year’s Eve.  To him it’s a sacred, holy holiday.  To me, it’s just another day.  And another night that I want to be in bed by 9:00. 

In my marriage we don’t fight alot.  We don’t have too much to fight over.    During the past 6 years, the few times it’s turned ugly either revolved around food or New Year’s Eve.  I have finally learned that food and New Year’s Eve are important to J-Dub.  To love him is to love these two events as well. 

For the sake of all that’s good and peaceful,  I suggested we have a few close friends over for a small celebration.    We had a little food, a little drink, and a lot of laughs.  It was so fun, I can’t wait until 2012.

The next night, being the party animals that we are, we went with a couple of friends to a country-western dance in a nearby town.  The music was great, but the crowd was young, and I do mean young.  The thirty-something crowd that I was in was the geriatric group for the night.  The dance lasted until 1:00, but by 12:00 the crowd had thinned considerably ; I imagine in order to make curfew and avoid getting grounded from their cell phones.

In the midst of this young, firm bodied, tech savvy crew, there was another character however.  He wasn’t too young, but he was younger than me.  Probably in his late 20’s.  He wore a goofy knit hat, baggy jeans with holes in the knees, and he had way too much hootch to drink.  He couldn’t dance but he thought he could.  I spent my evening watching this idiot flit around the room, pulling women out on the dance floor and explain to them how to dance  because he was so hard to follow.  He would start out two-stepping (and I use that term loosely) in his converse tennis shoes and frayed jeans dragging the floor, and then suddenly turn and lock elbows with his partner, performing high kicks and attempting scottish dirges, as his trapped partners struggled to maintain an ounce of composure as they were dying a slow death of embarrassment. 

I watched this moron and although I consider myself to be super easy going and tolerant of most kinds of people, I couldn’t stand this guy.  Towards the end of the evening, after he had drank all he had brought, he went to an abandoned table to rummage through all the empty beer cans to see if there was anything left to drink in them.  He picked up discarded cigarette packages in hopes of finding a forgotten cigarette.   In between songs when the dance floor was partially cleared, he would take a run onto the dance floor and slide across the center.  At one point he decided to break dance and he was even so bad mannered as to dart and flit between and amongst the couples enjoying their slow dance without any regard to anyone.  I sat at my table thinking he needed a good punch in the teeth and I was about ready to give him one.

And then he walks over.  He begins speaking to my husband.   The music was loud and I couldn’t make out everything he was saying.  I heard the word “bucks” and I presumed he was asking  for money.   J-Dub shook his head, some more words were exchanged, and he walked away.

“What’d he want?” I leaned over and yelled at J-Dub over the music.

I found out he didn’t want money.  But instead he offered my husband 50 bucks for a dance with me. 

I was appalled.  I can’t be bought!  What does he think I am? Some 2 bit hoochie mama that he can just throw money at and have his way with?

But …..wait……. on second thought…..fifty bucks you say? 

I think I might know a scottish dirge or two. 

And break dancing?  Did I mention I was a child of the eighties?

I don’t know the point of this story.  Perhaps the lesson learned in all this is:

The girls all get prettier at closing time.