Friday Confessions

Happy Fourth of July, everyone! Hope everyone has a great holiday weekend.

As you might know, I have no children right now.

(insert Brea either doing the Happy Dance, or taking a nap just because she can)

The older kids are with John's mom, and David is with my mom. I go pick them all up tomorrow afternoon. Since they've been gone, I've had some time to sleep in late get stuff done. Time to play on the internet finish up some projects. Time to watch lots of the Discovery Channel think deep thoughts about life. Today's confession?

I totally want to be an Alaskan crab fisherman.

However, there are several problems with that. Let's talk about them:

1) I don't eat shellfish (with the exception of crawdads, and then only about once every two years). I think if I worked on a crab fishing boat, I'd have to eat crab.

2) I am extremely sensitive to motion. I can't handle being the passenger in a car for 15 minutes without getting nauseous, so I'm pretty sure I couldn't hack it on a boat for days or weeks at a time, in what seems to be fairly bad weather many times.

3) I really, really, really hate the ocean. My idea of living in hell is being stuck on an iceburg for eternity. Which brings us to

4) I hate being cold. We've talked about this in the past, so you know that this is no secret.

5) It's all guys. I am not a guy. You do the math.

6) Those guys are gone from their families for really long stretches of time. I get cranky when I have to spend more than 2 hours away from home.

7) Did I mention the part about hating the ocean and being cold?

8) I'd have to come into contact with Edgar, and I might have a problem with that, because I really, really love admire him.

This is Edgar. He's my homie.


(He did a really good interview, a livechat, here. It's pretty funny.)

Edgar works on the Northwestern. His brother, Sig, is the captain. Edgar is the deck boss and engineer. Their family is Norwegian.

Here's Edgar with his brothers. Sig, the captain, on the left, and the other brother whose name I can't remember, on the right. The other brother avoids the camera at all costs, so we don't know much about him.


(Google tells me that the third brother is Norman. Sorry about that, Norm!)

It seems to be a prerequisite in crab fishing that you have to smoke. I think maybe when you fill out the application, there's a question that says, 'Do you smoke?' and if you say no, they just throw your app away.


But it's not just Edgar that I'm completely and utterly obsessed with I like. This is Johnathan and his brother Andy. They're co captains of the Time Bandit.


They're very funny together. They take turns driving the boat. I like their crew, too.

This is Phil. I used to be really afraid of Phil, but now I know that he just has to pretend to be tough. He's really a big softie.


Phil is the captain of the Cornelia Marie. His two sons, Jake and Josh, are also on the boat. Arguments and yelling ensue, often. But everyone is always friends afterwards.

A few episodes ago, Phil had to be airlifted off the boat, because he was coughing up blood. They thought he had broken a rib. Or three. But when he got to the hospital, it turned out that he had a blood clot that started in his leg, passed through his heart, and was in his lungs. Hence, the coughing blood. We haven't found out yet if he'll be back on the boat this season. It's all very suspenseful, I tell you! (And he's not helping himself by sneaking out of his room, going outside, and smoking. I'm just saying. Phil probably smokes at much at the rest of the fleet, combined.)

There's other boats the Discovery Channel follows, too. Keith is the captain of the Wizard. Sten is captain of the North American. And Rick is captain of the Early Dawn. Keith is pretty funny, but he's a little too prone to drama for my tastes.

Now, this is not a show you can just watch one episode of and be hooked. If you haven't seen it before, wait for a marathon to come on, sit down with the world's largest pile of laundry, and watch you some Deadliest Catch. You won't be sorry.

(Don't worry, we don't have to keep this one from John. He knows and is totally ok with my obsession um crush um no wait, obsession with Edgar this show. He was sick a while back, and basically spent two days on the couch, when they happened to be running a Deadliest Catch marathon, and he's also obsessed, too, which is funny, because John never gets excited about any TV, unless it's the Astros, but they way their year is going, we really don't need to get into that right now. I'm just saying. Wouldn't be good for my blood pressure, which wouldn't be good for the baby. For real.)

(Bleeping Astros. Grrrr ...)

Friday Confessions

Ok, so we've covered a few things on previous Fridays.

You know about the imaginary affair I'm having.

If we meet, and I weighed 250 pounds (which honestly, would not be flattering on my 5' 2" frame!), you'd know why.

Maybe we could watch bad TV together sometime? Or listen to some music that might make your ears bleed?

I have a secret life.

And of course, I was a very, very, very bad big sister. (Back when I was still bigger than my brothers, both of whom are now well over 9 feet tall. At least it seems that way to me.)

Remember how we talked about not telling my husband about these things? Well, to be totally honest, he knows. He's about as far from stupid as you can get, so yes, he knows. But I'm serious about this one: YOU CAN'T TELL HIM!!!!! It's a real secret, one that he can never, ever know. He'd be mad at me for weeks. And take my trouble-causing precious children and leave me. This is serious, people!!!!!!

I think anyone who knows me, knows how I feel about coffee. I love it. I would die for coffee. Me and coffee, we're like thisclose. Brea + coffee = BFFE. Seriously.

I've had some issues before with the drink of the gods, though. Each time I get pregnant, it ain't planned, so I don't have time to slowly wean myself off the crack juice smack good stuff caffeine. I get horrible headaches.

(One time, my mom called me and seriously thought that she had brain cancer, or a benign tumor at the very least, because her head was hurting her so bad. She was in tears. I was wearing a green shirt. I don't know why I remember that, but I do. Sorry. Anyway, she was so miserable that she was about to call someone to drive her to the doctor. I asked her if she had had any coffee that morning, and she said no. I told her to make a really strong pot, have two or three cups, and call me back in like an hour. I totally felt like a doctor. Her headache went away!! She was having caffeine withdrawals! And I totally established, yet again, how brilliant I am.)

(Mom, I'm sorry I shared that. But it was too good to pass up. Please still come and visit me next Thursday. I'll have some of your favorite coffee creamer.)

Ok, I digress. Sorry. Anyway, David is over a year and a half, I want seventeen more babies another baby, and apparently, we can never plan these things. So if I do end up pregnant, I don't want to go through those headaches, on top of the morning sickness, yet again. So I've started making the switch over to a lower-caffeine coffee.

For the love of all that is good and right and pretty in this temporary world, DON'T TELL MY HUSBAND. He really doesn't know. I started about three months ago, by adding one-half spoon of decaf to the six spoons of regular coffee.

Ever few weeks, I would add one-half scoop more decaf, and one-half scoop less regular. At this point, we're drinking half-caf coffee. I can live with that.

Ok, I know this might now seem like that big of a deal. But it is, trust me!!! You don't believe me? Well, here's what John looks like when he wakes up in the morning and the coffee isn't finished brewing. Sam snapped this about a week ago with the old digital we've been letting him play with.


I'm not kidding. He is not a pleasant person to be around before he has his coffee. Well, I find him rather pleasant, actually. The kids don't have any issues with his, either. I guess he's just an acquired taste ... or something.

Here he is after he has that first cup. For real. I just took this picture yesterday morning!

Mmmm ... isn't he just dreamy? Doesn't he look nice in his work clothes?

You know, I so rarely post pictures of John and me together. It's just that one of us is usually taking the pictures, so we never seem to be in the same shot. But a friend of ours did manage to get this great, totally candid picture of the two of us chatting a few weeks ago.

Am I having a great hair day or what!?!?

I know, I know. Again, I digress. Sorry.

Coffee. Yeah. I changed our coffee without my caffeine-loving husband having a clue. His energy level hasn't changed one bit. He seems to have more, actually (which I attribute to the fact that he's been drinking this fabulous juice each morning!). But, if I told him, he'd start telling me how tired he's been lately, and how he's had no energy, , and been totally sluggish at work, and if I asked him how long he's been feeling that way, he'd stop, look at me suspiciously, and ask me when I started jacking with the coffee. I'm just saying.

So maybe we'll just keep this between the two of us, mmm-kay?

And yes, those are my real eyelashes. God has been very good to me. For real.

Friday Confessions

Well, here we go. You should probably run away while you can. Leave your retinas in tact. Leave me my dignity, people. Why I have these compulsions, to unload my innermost soul and frighten away share crazy details with the people I'm lucky enough to be able to call internet friends, I'll never know. Maybe you can help me, and shed some light on that issue. Who knows.

I've mentioned my love of music before. It's all my mother's fault influence, really. Here's a story I like. Just before John moved to Austin, he and I drove up from Houston to look at apartments. (Little did he know that I would come visit and then never go home. That was 8 years ago. He had no idea what he was getting into, really.) I didn't know it at the time, but he had the ultimate test, in his mind, for the stay-ability of girlfriends. When on a road trip with them, he would put in some of his music, like Yes. Well, Yes was no stranger to moi. At the tender age of ... well, I don't exactly remember. I was young, anyway. Anyway, I had been introduced to Yes as a youngster by my mom, so I started singing along with the song that John turned on (it happened to be one of my favs, Roundabout), and John nearly swerved off the road. He was blown away that, not only had I heard of Yes, but I knew them well enough to know words. To more than one song. Because next came my absolute favorite Yes song, All Good People, and I sang that one, too.

John later told me that's when he knew I was a keeper, because apparently, Yes had scared off many other girls, with their long songs, key and meter changes, strange lyrics, and flat-out weirdness. Then he found out that I adore The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Zeppelin. He had no choice but to marry me, and let me have lots of his little music-loving babies.

Well, that might not be exactly how it happened, but it's close. And the whole part about Yes is totally true.

But that's not what we're here to talk about today. I just wanted to show you that I have a love for all kinds of music.

But.

It's not all good music. I'm not talking morally, either, although the morals of many bands I love can raaawther easily be questioned. No, I'm talking bad, embarrassing, listen to alone in the car and sing off key music.

Kelly Clarkson. Mandy Moore. Jessica Simpson. Jennifer Lopez, for crying out loud!

And let's not forget this crazy train-wreck of a person.


I adore her music. Please never tell anyone about this.

I love old bad music, too. The 80's, man! The 80's!! What could go wrong?


Well, a lot of things, I guess. Here's the thing, though. I LOVE BON JOVI. For real. And Guns N' Roses. And Metallica. Oh, do I ever love Metallica. And I don't think they sold out when they cut their hair. They were growing, and changing, and maturing not only as a band, but as musicians and individuals.

I'm really sorry I said all that. I'm even more sorry that I know it, believe me.

Anyway. Hair bands. Love 'em!!

But.

Then there were the 70's. Nothing can top the 70's, really, because even though they didn't have AquaNet yet, they did have something better: POLYESTER!! Oh, did they ever have polyester!



The jumpsuits!! The bellbottoms! The tight pants!!! The gold!

The eyeshadow!!!


Yeah, baby!!

And let's not forget this lovely gem:


There are no words that could justify that piece of fabric, so I'm not even going to attempt it.

Ahem. Sorry. This soul-baring experience post is about music, so let's not get distracted by the fashion (or lack thereof), ok?

Now, some truly great stuff did come out of the 70's, as far as music is concerned. The Clash. (I love The Clash ever so much. Brilliant!) Stairway to Heaven. Free Bird. Pink Floyd. The Rolling Stones. The Beatles. KISS. Queen. Black Sabbath. Love it all.

But.

Then there were other groups. You know what I'm talking about.


Disco. Oh, dear. (Hello, Bee Gees. Long time, no see. Maybe y'all should stop tanning for a while, mmkay? You might think it's working for you, but you all look a tad like orange aliens. I'm just saying. The sun isn't always your friend. I'll introduce you to something wonderful later called Chest-Hair Wax. Lovely little invention. But we won't get into that now.)

And, well, here's my confession. I know it took me a while to get to it, but I had to work up to it, you see? It's so bad I couldn't just come out and say it.

I like bad 70's music.

(Please stop throwing rocks at me. It's not polite.)

I understand if we can't be friends anymore. At least with the other confessions, you could think to yourself, 'Yeah, that guy really is hot!,' or, 'Mmm, those do look good.' Not so with this one. I know, I know. Like I said, I understand if you don't send me a birthday card this year.

I've always known this Thing was lurking in my soul, a deep and dark secret. I guess it all came to the surface a few weeks ago, when I was in the car and a song came on. And I knew most of the words. And I loved it, and sang loudly. Then I wept, for I beheld it, and was plunged into much sorrow.


Yes, kids, it's them. Captain and Tennille. Oh, how can I even live with myself?


I mean, just look at them!


Well, she does look happy, and she's got great teeth. I'll give her that. But was this really necessary?


I mean, really? I could have lived for a long, long, long time without ever seeing that, I don't think my life would have been any less for it. I'm just saying.

So now you know. And if we see each other at Starbucks, I understand if you won't let your children talk to me. Know that I love them anyway.

And for the love of all things good and sacred in this world, please don't tell John. He already thinks I'm weird enough as it is ... Seriously.

I'm just saying.

Friday Confessions

Well, after a one-week break from baring my soul and scaring you all, I'm back with a new confession. One that will give you a peek into my warped soul life. Please still love me after you read this.

A little bit about moi. I homeschool. I stay at home. We are very conservative Christians. I now have babies at home, I breastfed David until he was 14 months old, and use cloth diapers. I buy groceries in bulk. I have gardens and chickens. I mostly wear skirts because I think they are more modest, more feminine, and honestly, more comfortable. I'm not this gal:
(and I'm sure she's a wonderful person), but I do try to dress on the conservative side. I've even been known to wear a head covering.

Not me:




But it's possible that I do own this skirt:


However, I have a dream. Not this kind of dream (although it might make more sense after I tell you what I'm about to tell you).

Here's my alter ego:


That's right. In my 'other life,' I'm Rachel Bilson. I have a studio loft in downtown Austin. (I'm single, so I can do that.) I work at the fabulous little store (Anthropologie, maybe?) for my day job, and I have a few variations on my night job. Sometimes I'm the know-it-all host of some snooty high-end, exclusive restaurant. Sometimes I'm the awesome bartender that's kind of mysterious, but totally hot, and makes lots of tips while never letting anyone know anything about her.

I don't have all the physical tell-tales of having children, like 4,982 stretch marks. And saggy boobs. And spider veins she showed up when I was 18 years old and pregnant with Sam. I mean, what? Huh? What were we talking about?

Oh, my alter ego. Right. I can pull off outfits like this:



And this:


And let's not forget this:

Sometimes, instead of being Snooty Host Girl or Awesome Bar Gal, I'm the ultimate ... Rock Star Girl!!

(Ok, I think even my alter ego wouldn't actually wear this, but you know what I mean.)

My band is cool, and local, and a little indie, but a little hippie, too. I vacillate between being the bassist or drummer, but I'm totally cool, no matter what I do. Seriously. I even have writing credits on our album.

Sometimes, I'm also Kate Hudson, minus the blonde hair and famous mom. I like my mom, and she's still my alter ego's mom. She comes to all the shows she can make, and shops at my boutique, and gets the best seat in my restaurant on Friday nights without having to make a reservation. I wouldn't do that for Goldie Hawn. My mom is waaay cooler than that. I'm just saying.


Anyway, that's me sometimes.

And for the record, here in real life, I do have a couple of quirks. I've been known to dye streaks of my hair purple (and not just when I was younger). I still really want to get my nose pierced but my husband won't let me. I own a killer pair of rock star cowboy boots, and I look great when I wear them with my rock star-esque jeans. I used to have piercings that had to be removed when I started breastfeeding, and I just never put back in. What? Who said that?

(My mom is totally going to kill me for saying that last one, but she's out of town right now. Maybe she won't notice. Right? It's not like she's not the most observant person I've ever met, so I'm sure it will pass right by her ... right? Please?)

It probably sounds like I spend way too much time in fantasy land thinking about this. I really don't. It's taken me years to refine this alter ego, because I spend so little time thinking about her. I love my life. My husband is amazing beyond all words. My kids have me wrapped around their little fingers, and know it, and they mean the world to me. I would never, ever, for a single second trade my real life for my alter ego's life. Ever.

But sometimes ... my kids drive me crazy. Sometimes, I know I love them, but I wonder how much I like them at that exact moment in time. Ditto the great husband. (As it turns out, he and I are both human, so we butt heads and act like buttheads to each other. Luckily, this happens few and far between, and we might get into a spat about once a month. If that.) Sometimes, the housework gets to me (did you know I have mopping issues?), and I think how lucky my alter ego is, because she lives in a small, minimalist studio loft and has a very naturally clean personality. Clutter bothers her, so there's not so much of it around. Lucky her. I mean, me. Wait, is she me? It's all very confusing.

But she's sad, and doesn't know why. Her life is full, but not complete. When she drives through the country (on her way to another gig, of course!!), she wistfully looks out the window and sighs. Poor thing.

But sometimes, I just want a martini. I'm just saying.

No, I don't. Just kidding.

But not really.

No, seriously. I don't want a martini. Really.

Because I actually want a white russian.

Joking.

No, I'm not. Well, I kind of am.

I'm just saying.

Friday Confessions

NOTE: I accidentally hit the 'save now' button instead of the 'publish' button yesterday. So sorry about that, but here's a Friday Confession a day late. Please don't hate me and stop being my friend think less of me when you read it!!


Ok, this one will be short and sweet, because I'm getting ready to take the kids to my mom's house, in much anticipation for my anniversary weekend.

On my right thumb, I have a small, crescent-shaped scar. My younger brother, Kevin, bit me when I was about 6 or 7. He would have been 2 or 3. He went through this bad bitting stage, and was always getting into trouble.

I was not always the sweet, calm, loving, generous person you have all grown to love to know. I was once a mean, selfish, greedy, hateful, incredibly bossy and demanding firstborn. I was not a good older sister. Things did not go well for me, either, when my brother finally figured out that he was bigger and stronger than I was. He turned mean. I deserved it. For the life of me, I don't know why.

Ok, ok. Here's one of the many, many reasons why I deserved everything I got.

Back to my scar. We were standing outside one day, beside the bbq grill. I still remember wearing a red shirt. I started crying, and my mom came running outside to see what had happened. My thumb was bleeding like crazy and I was in so much pain it was almost unbearable a very tiny bit. My mom asked me what happened, and I told her. Kevin bit me. She was so frustrated with him that she didn't even spank him, she just sent him to his room or something like that. I got a hug, and a cookie, and an hour later, life was back to normal, except that I had a band-aid with a cool design on it, and I got to show my dad my horrible wound scratch when he got home from work that evening. Kevin was scolded again, and reminded that WE DON'T BITE PEOPLE.

Here's the thing.

I've never told anyone this, and I'm so embarrassed.

Please don't tell my mom.

I told Kevin to bite me.

I know! I know!! I'm going to hell for all the awful things I did to that boy when he was younger. In my defense, he was really annoying!!

Ok, ok. I'll stop making excuses. Mom, I'm really sorry I lied by omission. Dad, I'm sorry I lied by omission. Kevin, I'm really sorry I made you bite my finger, and then got you into trouble. And then got a cookie for my bad deed. I do love you, and think you're a great little younger brother. Even if you have been taller than me since you were in 5th grade.

But seriously, you could be really annoying!!

I'm just saying.

Friday Confessions

Well, this one isn't quite as frightening bad. I mean, I'm still ashamed. But I will take a deep breath, grab a cup of coffee (yes, I know it's like 2 in the afternoon. It's been one of those days. I love coffee. I'm a grownup, and I'm allowed! Leave me alone, or my boyfriend will come back, and there's gonna be some trouble ... Sorry. I digress.), and open up. Come, try to decipher what's going on inside my head. Figure out why I tick! Help me analyze my dreams! Lock me away, leave the kids with John, and let me have a much needed vacation in the crazy house, where I get to do lots of 'garden therapy.' Huh? What? Who said that?

Anyway. I love healthy food. (That's not my confession.) Don't laugh! It's true. I love growing my own food in my garden, knowing where it comes from. I have a huge crush on whole wheat flour, and making my own bread, and I use organic half & half because it tastes better, and I really love it when I make a meal for people, and they lean back with full bellies and say, 'Man, that was great! I don't even want to know what was in it, though. I'll just get depressed.' And I can grin and say, 'Actually, it was really good for you.' I snack on baby carrots and multi-grain crackers, I haven't had a coke in my house in ... well, ever, and even my cookies are fairly good for you!!

But.

There's always a but.

And if I keep it up, this will be my butt.


Because, ladies, if I had to choose between a lifetime knowing the love of my husband, and a lifetime of knowing the love of what I'm about to share with you ... well, it might not be pretty.

Are you ready?

(Oh, I'm just so ashamed. And hungry after googling all these pictures.)

My dear friends, please help me. I have a problem.

Hi, my name is Brea, and I'm a donut-holic.


(Hi, Brea.)

Yes, it's true. I really do have a problem!!


Well, my mouth isn't that big, but you get the idea. I am so very, eternally thankful that there isn't a Krispy Keme in Bastrop.

My kids make themselves I make my kids a breakfast of Life cereal oatmeal with fresh fruit and real yogurt (you now, the kind with the live cultures) and when John wakes up, I have to go to HEB for milk. Even though we're not out of milk. And since I'm there, I might as well get a donut. Seeing how that was my entire reason for making up the milk excuse to get out of my house. We do always seem to need milk, after all. It's not like I buy three of them and scarf them all down on my way home! Gross! How dare you suggest such a thing. I am a picture of self-control.


NUJ fupure i ohnerq ifo348907 bpqbkadsdr -9piln bn cghn

Sorry, I had to wipe the drool off the keyboard. I hate it when that happens!

And if there was a Krispy Kreme here in Bastrop (remember, I'm glad there isn't one here. I'm glad there isn't one here. I'm glad there isn't one here. Maybe if I keep saying that, I'll believe it one day.), I might even have more of a problem. Did you know that KK makes a whole wheat donut now????



Man, if I could find whole wheat donuts, I could justify eating like 5 times as many of them!!!!!!

I have dreams that start off like this: I'm back in junior high, or some other cliche place where one might be really insecure. As I get my books, the bell rings, but no one goes to class. They're all standing there looking at me. E gads!!!!! I'm NEKKID!!!!! Bare as a jaybird!!!! Well, I don't know if totally nekkid would be appropriate. So maybe I'm in my skivvies. Everyone is pointing and laughing, and I try to run away and hide. But all the doors I try are locked. I don't know what to do! But then ...

Then, I see something. A light in the distance, one that might save me from the horrible predicament I'm in. Because let's admit it, no matter how popular you were in junior high (which, by the way, I totally wasn't!!), it would NOT have been cool to be walking down the hall naked in my undies. I'm just saying.

Wait, could it be? It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's ...

A man with a large tray of donuts!!



Now, most normal people having this dream that I totally made up that I actually had last week would have grabbed the tray, spilling donuts everywhere, and used it to shield themselves until they made it to the locker room where they had forgotten their clothes. Or something like that.

Not moi. Oh, no. I grab a donut off the tray, and saunter down the hall to said locker room, not caring anymore what the world, or the popular kids, or the jocks, or the band nerds, or the goths said (not that I was a band nerd. No I wasn't. NO, I WASN'T. Sarah, keep your mouth closed on the subject of band nerds, because I have completely mortifying pictures of us you in band, holding oboes an oboe. I'm just saying). Because with my donut in my hand, I am above all that. I don't care if they don't like my lime green bra (not that I actually owned one of those in seventh grade), or my neon orange undies, or the fact that I'm wearing them together. If their eyes hurt from all the clashing colors on my pasty-white skin (I look scary in the winter. I'll admit that much), that's their problem.

Why?

Because I have a donut!!!!



I'm telling you, if I don't get help soon, I'm going to wake up one morning, look in the mirror, and see this:



Except less jaundiced, because I do happen to love being outside.

With a good book.

And a nice cup of herbal tea.

And a donut.

Please help.

Coming soon ...

Not a baby. Sorry. I wish.

I'm still trying to figure out this Friday's Friday Confessions, on that won't make you flee from me because you're afraid of catching whatever the hell I have that makes me so strange look at me funny if we were to run into each other in a grocery store. I have my street cred to think about, people. Seriously.

However! I have some fun news. The following Friday, I'm unloading dropping off my kids with my mom, so John and I can have a lovely anniversary weekend. Yay me! While I'm there, I'll be co-authoring the Friday Confessions for 2/22 with my mom a friend of mine. It'll be Confessions by Proxy, and my mom my friend will anonymously be posting her confession. And then you'll gain a little bit of insight into why I am the way I am why I have such a lovely mom friend.

She doesn't want anyone to know where this Confession is coming from, so on the off chance that I accidentally reveal my mom's my friend's identity, let's keep it a secret, ok? Well, we can tell Clive, but that's it. He's very trustworthy. You can see it in his eyes.

Anyway, a little hint on that unknown person's Confession:

This is Ami. He's on Miami Ink. I've never seen Miami Ink.

Man, am I gonna be grounded when she sees this ... Oh, well! Life is short. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission, right? Back me up here, people!!

ps- I think Blogger is trying to kill me. I've never had such a slow connection! In retrospect, it might be my horrible internet. It probably is. We have a lot of problems with our country cable.

Sorry, Blogger! I love you!! Hugs and kisses!!

Friday Confessions

Ready? Time for me to make a confession and let you think less of me get to know me a little better. Remember, these are super-secret, so we can't ever tell John. I mean, the ice skating was bad enough.

But there's something I've got to get off my chest.

It's something that I've struggled with for a while.

I know my friend Lyndsey has similar struggles, and it's nice to be able to talk about your problems with a good friend, one who understands what you're dealing with.

From what I've heard, it's actually something that many women (and a few men??) struggle with.

Are you ready?

Hello, Lover!!


Yes, ladies, I confess. I am completely and utterly obsessed with with the mortal god that is Clive Owen.



Oh, my. Although, I must now say that I hate Jennifer Aniston. Life isn't fair. I mean, God has given her that hair. And body. And success. Can't she be content with that? Must she go around, taking pictures with my obsession crush? It's not right, I tell you.



Oh, look! He's brooding. And slightly tousled. I'm loving the trench and black tie and angry look. Mmmmm ...



Aww, but what have we here? Light colored suit, a mischievous little smirk, great hair, a few wrinkles in the jacket (he obviously is enough of a real person to not obsess about his appearance the way I do the way other celebrities do). It's possible that I may have cried a little when Jason Bourne shot him in the first Bourne movie, because that means he can't be in the other Bourne movies. It's all very sad and tragic, I tell you.


Oh, and the movie King Arthur? Swoon!! Loved it!! His accent makes me melt. His eyes make me melt. His dirty, messy hair makes me melt. His lovely, lovely teeth ... well, you get the picture. Oh, and I hate Keira Knightly. She was his love interest in that movie. Again, life just isn't fair.



And then he dies in Children of Men. Why do people keep killing him????? WHY?????

It seems through each of my pregnancies, I develop a fixation with one person. A crush, obsession, whatever. I blame it on all the hormones. (And every time I see the word 'hormones,' I hear the aunt in My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding saying 'the hor-MONE-ees' and I laugh. But I digress.) Anyway, guess who it was during my pregnancy with David? Uh-huh. That's right. Except that unlike my first two pregnancy crushes, I'm still waiting for this crush to go away.


Siiiigh. I can wait.

Please don't tell John.

And then go out and rent all of my angel's Clive's movies. I'll Sleep When I'm Dead is a downer, but it's great!!

Friday Confessions

Well, I think I may start a new Thing. Friday Confessions. I'm sure everyone will just love the idea, and start checking in religiously every Friday, because nothing is more fun than hearing how crazy other people are to make you feel better about yourself, right? I'll post something new and totally insane and frightening honest about myself each Friday. So prepare for some confessions that will make you have bad dreams and wet the bed, and wake up feeling better about yourself while you think at least I'm not that person laugh. Hopefully.

And here's the first one. My husband would leave me and take the children if he knew about this, so maybe we could just keep it between you and me, ok?



I love to watch figure skating. The costumes! The music!! The drama!!! The faux-sexual tension!!!!


The crotch shots!!!!! (Seriously, how often do you have to wax to be in this profession??)



And, what's it like on your first day of practice with a new partner? 'Oh, hi there. My name is Brian, and I'll be skating with you for the next few years. Let's go ahead and start off with that move where I feel all your lady parts as I hoist you above my head, ok?'

I get so excited when John is working on a Saturday, and the kids are all upstairs having nap/quiet time, and I sit on the couch to fold some laundry, and decide to flip on the boob tube, and this is what pops up:


Check out that eyeliner!! It's like Mad Max: Musical on Ice!! Where can I get tickets to that??

Oh, it's a wonderful, wonderful thing. But for real, let's not tell John.

Meme from Jessica coming soon ...